


A Musketeers' Bloom

by ComeHitherAshes



Series: A Musketeers' Seasonal Challenge [3]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: (quelle surprise), Blow Jobs, Cotton Candy Fluff, Exhibitionism, F/F, F/M, First Kiss, Frottage, Handcuffs, M/M, Meet-Cute, Multi, Voyeurism, a veritable amount of smut, au prompts, from flustered to ferocious, happy feel good fics, kitchen antics, occasional smut, pairings and tags given at the beginning of each prompt, possibly edging into E territory, the three of them switch, writing challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-01
Updated: 2015-04-30
Packaged: 2018-03-20 18:00:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 38,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3659778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ComeHitherAshes/pseuds/ComeHitherAshes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of 1500-word prompts for April, loosely based around spring and Easter. Mostly pairings, some OT3, tags and triggers given at the beginning of each chapter.</p><p>It's spring time, <i>mes amis</i>, so join us for some fluffy ficlets and amusing antics from the Musketeers boys!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fool Me Once, You're Dead to Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SirLancelotTheBrave](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SirLancelotTheBrave/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 1 - _April Fools' Pranks._
> 
> It is finally upon us, a happy-go-lucky spring collection of ficlets that I hope will make you all smile. You can check out our prompts list [here](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/post/115162281093/2k15-april-writing-challenge), but otherwise, enjoy the ride!
> 
>  **TAGS:** OT3, Porthos contemplates mortality, the boys are up to mischief, but no one can outsmart a spymaster, I've missed this.

It wasn't supposed to be Athos that walked through the door.

"Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit," Porthos chanted nervously under his breath, trying to squeeze himself closer to the wall in the hopes that he would melt through it and escape his eventual demise.

"He's going to  _kill_ us!" Aramis cried quietly from behind the sofa, his curls popping out as he peered through the almost-closed door to the kitchen.

Porthos couldn't see the inevitable damage from his hiding place, all he could see was Aramis' slowly widening eyes. "Is he mad?"

Very, very faintly, he heard Aramis squeak.

A bright (too bright), wide (too wide) smile broke across Aramis' face. "Hello,  _mon cher_! Is everything okay?"

Porthos slowly sank against the wall and did his best to emulate all the capacities of a hat stand – tall, fairly handsome, but mostly ignored.

"Where is he?" Athos' voice was like a winter wind, sharp and brutal, colder than the bucket he had been lugging around after Aramis all morning as they searched for the best spot to lay their plans.

Aramis laughed and Porthos closed his eyes in defeat, it was the sort of nervous laugh that most people gave when they were caught chewing gum in class or sneaking food into the cinema. When Aramis did it, it meant that Athos was on the warpath.

Porthos released his last steady breath.  _In for a penny…_

"It was meant for d'Artagnan, Athos, you gotta understand—!"

Porthos' vision immediately filled with a stocky storm and then there were hands fisting in the collar of his shirt. He was yanked to his feet, hands scrabbling on the wall in an attempt to brace himself – or to run away from the frigid look he was getting, he wasn't sure.

"Hey, love," he tried uselessly, his own rubbish attempt at a smile only serving to make Aramis snort. "Everythin', ah, alright?"

Athos stared at him, which wasn't unusual, Athos did that a lot, normally after Porthos had done something that he called brilliant and Athos called foolish.

What  _was_ unusual was the water that was still trickling from his hair, the water that had turned Athos' shirt see-through and his suit trousers sodden, the water that had once been in a carefully balanced bucket above the kitchen door.

 _That_  water, that was unusual.

Porthos' heart was jack-rabbiting behind his ribs. There was no telling how Athos would react at times like this; he could go from calm to furious in an instant. A glance over Athos' shoulder said that Aramis hoped it would go somewhere else entirely.

Porthos' pulse jumped for a different reason, but he knew he wasn't going to get off that easily – if ever again.

Athos noticed the change, he always did, but there wasn't an iota of empathy between those wet eyelashes, and so Porthos started thinking about what song he'd like to have at his funeral.

 _Stairway to Heaven_ would rouse a few laughs.

"Be thankful that I have an appointment to make in ten minutes," Athos murmured, and abruptly let him go, pausing only to smooth a hand over the rumpled fabric, fingers managing to perfectly trace the line of Porthos' collarbone, and then he was gone.

They stood in complete silence until they heard their bedroom door shut, and then Aramis sighed with relief. "Well, that went better than expected."

Porthos shook his head slowly, his teeth worrying at his tongue, his collar still a little damp from Athos' grip. "No, somethin's not right."

Aramis frowned. "Athos wouldn't prank us, it's beneath him."

Porthos shook his head more intently. "Nah, we're in for it, big time, an' it'll be sneaky."

"Finessed."

"We'll never see it comin'."

Aramis nodded sombrely, and then he shrugged, as if they weren't being stalked by a clever snow leopard in the drifts. "I'm not scared."

At that, Porthos grinned. "Yeah, you are, you're terrified, don't lie."

He expected Aramis to roundly deny it, but instead his smile grew smug as he sank back onto the sofa. "He asked for you."

Porthos was mildly distracted by Aramis' legs draping over the arm, but he knew a mutiny when he saw one. "What?"

"When he came in, he asked for you, he said,  _where is he._ "

"You think you're gettin' out of it?"

"Athos won't prank me," Aramis declared confidently, his smile teasing, "he loves me too much."

"Y'know you're lucky you're so gorgeous."

Aramis beamed. "I know."

Porthos caught Aramis' mouth with his, leaning over the sofa's back until Aramis' hands gripped at his shoulders, trying to draw him closer. They broke apart when Porthos chuckled against Aramis' lips. "He looked  _so_ funny, though."

Aramis flopped back onto the cushions, expression dubious. "He's going to kill you."

"Ah," Porthos replied flippantly, leaning on a palm, "I know how 'e thinks, he won't get me."

It turned out that Athos thought quite a lot, because two weeks went by of Porthos worriedly checking rooms before he entered them, warily eyeing lids and suspiciously tasting food –  _not for poisons_ , he defended when questioned,  _just for gross stuff_.

Athos would simply roll his eyes and continue doing whatever he had been doing, but even he had smiled when Porthos patted him down one evening before bed.

"What are you doing,  _mon coeur?_ "

"Checkin' you for weapons."

"I assure you that the only paraphernalia on my person is—"

Porthos covered Athos' mouth with one hand and kissed a trail down the back of his neck. "Nuh-uh, let me do the smutty jokes."

Athos had kissed his fingertips and leaned into his chest, and Porthos had been able to relax for the first time in days.

Aramis, of course, was always relaxed, which was why Porthos found him sunning himself in the garden, the house a state of calm after the night before.

"What're you doin' out here?" Porthos called, a bowl of cereal in one hand as he admired the view.

"Making the most of the weather."

"Aramis, it's like 12 degrees."

"It's warmer in the sun, come," Aramis called, one slender arm reaching towards him, and Porthos followed like a wisp of smoke on a beckoning breeze.

It was warmer, but if Porthos cuddled Aramis closer on pretence of cold, neither of them complained, and soon they were dozing to the sounds of lawnmowers and busy bees.

A shadow played over his closed eyelids, and cracking one open showed pure blue skies, softly swaying trees, and Athos. Athos, and a bucket.

Panic clamoured in his chest, and instinctively, Porthos had just enough time to roll until Aramis was between him and the grass. Porthos' yelp was swallowed by Aramis' scream, and then they were both lost in the deluge of ice cold water.

Most of it was borne by Porthos' back but his shiver seemed to shake him from head to toe. Aramis looked up miserably at him, the sun's glimmer gone from his hair to be replaced with dark, slick strands, and Porthos had to duck his head to huff a laugh against chilly shoulder.

"Sneaky, we thought, some finesse. Nope, just a bucket."

He heard Athos shrug. "It was amusing to watch you check the corners of every room you entered, I thought that was enough."

Porthos gave a grudging grin, bracing one arm over Aramis as the other reached up to shade his eyes. "And the water?"

Athos' head tilted to the side, the faintest smile playing about his lips as his gaze slipped from Porthos' for a moment. "It's a good look."

There was that change in his pulse again, and he felt Aramis arch slightly underneath him, ever the indicator for things to come – and again, and again. "Yeah? Well, we've gotta get these clothes outta the way, first."

The smile spiked into a smirk. "I might be able to help with that."

They made it through the kitchen door, Aramis attached to Athos' waist as Porthos shepherded them inside, sucking marks on Athos' neck until he hissed.

There was a tiny click, and then a burst of water splattered over the three of them, Athos' head rearing from Aramis' damp collarbone to snarl at the front door.

D'Artagnan frowned at them past his water gun, looking like a puppy that had just had his toys taken away. "Why are you already wet?"

Aramis fidgeted unhappily in Athos' arms, and Porthos decided that this was one prank the three of them were definitely going to do together. "Get 'im."

They threw the drenched puppy into the street and called it a victory from their bed.

"I trust we can put this madness behind us?" Athos murmured from behind closed eyes an hour later.

"Of course,  _mon cher_." Aramis glanced up from Athos' chest; their eyes met as Porthos hooked a leg over Athos' and stroked Aramis' still slightly damp hair.

Porthos matched his grin. The question was where they were going to find that much glitter in such a short time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have failed at a good title for this chapter, but hey, I did manage some hints of smut - good things to come, my friends! (Somebody please stop me from making finishing puns.)
> 
> So begins our third journey, please comment if you liked it! You can find us on Tumblr at [ComeHitherAshes](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com) and SirLancelotTheBrave. The tags used are ([#2k15 April Writing Challenge](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/2k15-April-Writing-Challenge)) and ([#A Musketeers' Bloom](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/A-Musketeers%27-Bloom)).


	2. Falling with Dignity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 2 - _3am and the fire alarm in our apartment complex just went off let me lend you my jacket while we wait on the sidewalk/my cute neighbor is standing next to me in his underwear._
> 
> I have wanted to do this one for so long and then totally blanked on the pairing; fortunately, these two appeared in my head and they insisted it work out this way.
> 
>  **TAGS:** Athamis, Aramis is my gambolling gazelle, Athos is a smooth fucker - it's all in the balance (I'll be here all ~~week~~ month).

"No, no, noooo," Aramis cried, one hand under the shower's hot spray. It was up to his shoulder, slicking down his front and pooling at his feet, his hair already damp from the steam.

Which, naturally, meant that the fire alarm had to go off.

The floor slippery, he scrambled out of the bathroom and snatched a towel from the radiator. If he hesitated at all it was for a mournful look at his vinyl records, but he knew the rules, leave everything behind and don't update Facebook.

Actually, that was a thought…

There was a smash against his door, and he yanked it open to see a vaguely familiar neighbour ordering him to get downstairs.

If this fire got on the news and he didn't have his phone, he was going to get an earful from his parents tomorrow.

"Why didn't you call me," he mimicked under his laboured breath, "Mama, there was a fire, please— oh, God." Aramis' feet made contact with the paving stones outside and he stopped dead.

The whole world and his wife was out here, most of which had actually diverted their attention from the flickering flames a few floors up on the next building to stare at him.

Was this the smallest towel that had ever existed?

Aramis' cheeks burned, his easy smile seeming hard to find when he was probably on the brink of breaking a few dozen laws and a few hundred rules of society.

One woman covered her child's eyes and Aramis considered just throwing himself into the fire, just to escape from what was probably the worst moment of his life.

"You know how to make an entrance, don't you?"

Oh, no,  _this_ was the worst moment of his life.

Aramis would know that dry voice anywhere, knew it from the countless meetings in the lobby and the way it felt like a sharp breeze on a chilly morning, the one that took your breath from your lungs and hurt a little bit, but it made you feel  _alive._

Aramis cast a baleful glare at the heavens before he turned around and his worst fears were confirmed. It was Athos, Athos of the floor above his, Athos of the always put together, Athos of the very warm-looking jacket.

If Aramis had felt woefully underdressed before, now he was just desperate.

It wasn't enough that Athos' blue eyes held that calculating gleam that seemed to see straight through his cocky charms, no, Athos had to be gorgeous too, from the scruffy cut of his beard to his expensive-but-probably-really-fucking-comfortable shoes.

Aramis clutched his towel more firmly, trying to lift his chin and seem like this was the sort of situation he found himself in all the time.

Naked and freezing on the doorstep.

Okay, not that, but he wasn't  _helpless_ or anything.

"Would you like my jacket?"

"Yes, please," he answered miserably, and wasn't sure if he heard Athos laugh quietly or whether that was his own tortured psyche.

Aramis slipped his towel to his waist, trying not to meet Athos' eye in case he said something stupid, which he always did, as if Athos' competence brought out the lovesick fool in him.

Yes, he was going that far with it, because from the moment Aramis had first set eyes on the man who had raised an amused eyebrow at his immaculate date-night attire, his heart had abruptly decided that there was no point beating for anyone other.

Because self-preservation clearly wasn't his best quality.

Aramis realised that Athos was waiting for him, and it was with a delighted shiver that Aramis felt the peacoat settle onto his shoulders, drawn by deft hands that seemed to score Aramis' skin in piercing lines of heat.

The wool was warm and Aramis didn't deny himself the pleasure of snuggling into it, but he did stop his eyelids from fluttering when he drew in the scent of freshly-rolled cigars and red wine.

Athos smelled exactly like he knew he would, like one of those fancy stores in the Burlington Arcade that Aramis couldn't afford to even look at.

Just like he couldn't now, because there were so many reasons that he needed his treacherous heart to shut up and stop telling him that they were meant to be together.

So what if Aramis found himself getting up a little earlier in the morning so that they would bump into each other again.

So what if Athos made him comfortable whilst simultaneously making him uncomfortable.

So what if Aramis had already decided that he loved him.

Fuck.

How did he get himself into these situations? More to the point, how did he do it so often, and so well, that he forgot how to speak?

"Thank you, for the jacket," he remembered belatedly, finally giving Athos a guilty smile.

Athos looked away from the fire as if he was faintly entertained by Aramis' idiocy. "You're welcome. Far be it from me to leave you to freeze."

Aramis found himself staring at Athos' profile, at his stupidly perfect I-should-be-on-a-coin profile, and made a frustrated noise. "You're always so dignified."

Athos blinked at him, surprise a fluttering flag across his face. "Am I?"

"Every time I see you, you're always," Aramis grabbed for words and, as he always did around Athos, failed, "you."

"Whilst I'm afraid I can't help being me, I can assure you that I'm not always—" That ghost of a smile appeared. "—dignified."

Aramis blushed, but more so out of indignation than embarrassment. "When? Tell me, if only so I don't feel so stupid in comparison."

Athos took a breath and let it go again, trying to gather his thoughts. "Well, in the morning, I am what might be called a wreck. It takes an ice cold shower to wake me up."

"Really, you're not a morning person?"

Athos raised an eyebrow, impossibly cute little crinkles of amusement around those shrewd eyes. "I would abolish mornings if I could. I need at least two shots of espresso to even consider acknowledging someone else's existence."

Aramis frowned then, his memory drifting back to an icy morning last month, one of those ones he had gotten up early for. "You acknowledged me that time I almost slipped on the stairs, you were wearing this coat—" Aramis cut himself off with a mental chide,  _okay, Aramis, calm down, don't act like you document the guy's life._

There was that surprise again, as if Athos didn't expect Aramis to remember, but how could he not? Aramis had made some tongue-in-cheek (more like foot-in-mouth) joke about needing to huddle together to keep warm, and Athos' noise had made this tiny clicking noise as it dropped open a bit.

It was happening again right now, and the look away as if he couldn't meet Aramis' eye for some reason. "Yes, well," Athos glanced at him, a tilt of his head, that nearly-there smile at his lips, "you're an exception."

A stray wind nearly toppled him.

"I am?"

Athos kept looking away, but it couldn't be called nervous, not on Athos. "Yes, because you're the only other reason I'm not dignified. In fact, I can't believe you thought otherwise. I thought it was obvious."

"Athos, nothing you do is obvious, you're like one of those really difficult crosswords in _The Times_ ," Aramis explained slowly, and thought,  _whereas_ _I'm a painfully simple wordsearch._

Athos shook his head with a disbelieving smile. "Aramis, you're standing outside in nothing but my jacket and it's doing unspeakable things to my blood pressure. I can safely say that I am  _not_ dignified."

Aramis blinked dumbly, barely grasping something that – for Athos – was a blatant statement. "But you look dignified."

Athos laughed in an exhale and inclined his head, one hand reaching out for Aramis'. "Come here."

Aramis went automatically, as if the stiff breeze in Athos' voice nipped him into action. For a moment, he thought that Athos wanted to hold his hand, but before he could think that a sweet but strange thing to do, he found his fingers pushed against Athos' pulse.

It was going a mile-a-minute.

"See?" Athos murmured, and Aramis realised quite how close they were standing, quite how  _undignified_ Athos actually was, and all because of him.

And it wasn't enough.

Athos' hand was still on top of his, so Aramis nudged it to his own neck, his frantic heart trying to pump directly into Athos' hesitant fingers as if it belonged there.

Aramis looked into blue eyes that were now devoid of calculation and seemed only pleasantly surprised. "See?"

"I do see," Athos replied, and Aramis felt the nip in it this time, felt it as teeth on his lip and a smile against his, and decided that his heart had been right.

This was quite possibly one of the best moments of his life, and with Athos' name in his throat and Athos' tongue in his mouth, it was wholly undignified.

Which, really, was the best way to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And Aramis caught a cold from standing outside for too long and truly learned what the word undignified means when he sneezed all over Athos on their second date (somebody also needs to stop me from coming up with more fic ideas; seriously, Athos taking care of a petulant, ill Aramis? Oh, my life).
> 
> Your comments are like the sunshine to my bonsai tree, so please leave one! You can find us on Tumblr at [ComeHitherAshes](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com) and SirLancelotTheBrave. The tags used are ([#2k15 April Writing Challenge](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/2k15-April-Writing-Challenge)) and ([#A Musketeers' Bloom](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/A-Musketeers%27-Bloom)).


	3. That Dummy Needs A Pacifier

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 3 - _Which one forgot to get the fucking diapers from the store?_
> 
> I don't write about babies... Here is OT3 with a baby.
> 
>  **TAGS:** How did this happen, it turned out annoyingly cute, I think, considering I've never held a _bébé_ , I fear this will be me when my friend's baby is born, I don't even know how babies work, what are they, are they just sugar and spit, idek, points for a song reference available.

Athos was tiptoeing around his own house, it was a farcical.

The living room was a mess, blankets were strewn over chairs, fuzzy things littered the floor, and to even look into the kitchen was enough to have Athos tempted to bleach bomb the entire building.

There were bottles everywhere, but not the ones he was used to seeing.

His foot came into contact with something soft and shaped vaguely like a dog, and it let out a series of chirpy, annoying barks.

" _Merde!_ "

Athos clamped his mouth shut immediately, his gaze anxiously darting to the ceiling, through which a thin, piercing cry started to sound.

Athos was tempted to mimic the sound out of pure desperation, but instead he muttered one of Porthos' favourite lines. "Shit, fuck, bollocks."

Two days, it had only been  _two days_ since Aramis had come home with a bundle in his arms and Athos had almost had a heart attack.

"S'the Pup's pup, they're goin' to see Constance's parents for a few days an', well, Aramis volunteered." Porthos hadn't looked displeased though, even with a multitude of bags weighing down his arms. "C'mon, it'll be fun, we're 'is god-parents."

Athos hadn't been allowed to argue, and so little Alexandre had stayed.

Athos glared at the doorway that was soon filled with Porthos and said nuisance, a skipping Aramis hot on his heels as they bickered over whose turn it was to hold him next.

Apparently Aramis 'won' and was soon on his front on the carpet, the baby doing the same opposite him, tiny brow furrowed in confusion at what Aramis was saying. "A-ra-mis. Aramis!" A giggle and a sticky palm tapped Aramis' cheek. "Please, Zandre, I want you to say my name first."

"Never gonna happen," Porthos declared confidently from his sprawl on the sofa. "I'm gonna be 'is favourite."

Aramis looked over his shoulder to give Porthos a dubious expression. "How so, because you're going to teach him to tie knots?"

"What kid doesn't wanna know how to tie knots? They're useful."

"On shoelaces, yes, not for… fishing." Aramis' words were disparaging, but the tone was happy and indulging, because he was waving a toy in Alexandre's face to make him laugh.

"Fishin's great fun!" Porthos twisted in his seat to see Athos leaning against the doorframe with an eyebrow raised at the pair of them. "Wasn't fishin' fun, Athos?"

"No, it was too long and too hot, which is why I pay fishermen to get my fish. Besides, Aramis spent the entire time sunbathing."

Aramis picked up Alexandre and held him against his chest to round on Athos affrontedly. "I did not!"

Porthos had started grinning – only half at the story, the rest was aimed at Aramis and Alexandre. "That's right, you said fishin' with a line was cheatin', that you could catch one with your bare hands."

"I did!"

Athos cleared his throat. "You nearly drowned in three inches of water."

Aramis stood, his nose stuck in the air even as Alexandre dribbled over his shirt – possibly the only person in the entire world who could get away with it. "At least I caught something."

"True, that was a duff day. The fish weren't bitin'."

"And the cotton wasn't high," Athos murmured, finding something strangely endearing with the way Aramis absent-mindedly kissed Alexandre's round cheeks when he started to fuss.

Aramis caught Athos' eye with a smile, his voice gaining a musical edge. "Your Daddy's rich."

"Debatable," Porthos called teasingly, but he still seemed to have the same happiness on his face that was inexplicably twirling through Athos at the pretty picture they made.

"But his Mama  _is_  good-looking," Aramis said, hefting Alexandre in front of him so he could say in that odd voice people affected when talking to babies, "Yes she is, isn't she? Hopefully you'll look like your Mama."

Porthos laughed, "He's got the Pup's eyes, though."

Athos didn't move from his stance against the doorframe, but he did tilt his head a little to look, which prompted Aramis to spin Alexandre around until he was almost nose-to-nose with Athos.

Athos froze, pulling himself away from the pink creature that seemed to addle people's minds. Athos was about to make a run for it in case Aramis did something unspeakable like pass him over, when he realised something. Alexandre did have d'Artagnan's eyes. "And his smile."

Aramis frowned, peering around until his jaw dropped. "He smiled at Athos."

Porthos had already crawled over the sofa to stare at them. "Athos smiled at him."

Athos wiped his expression. "I'm simply surprised by the similarities."

Porthos' shock immediately morphed into amusement, leaning on one elbow to chuckle. "Uh-huh."

"Genetics are intriguing." Athos scowled at them both, and when they didn't stop with their foolish grins, he made an exasperated noise. "I'm going upstairs."

Aramis put on that voice again, but it sounded more like the one Porthos had done last night when he was reading as the bears from  _Goldilocks._ "Athos is so grumpy, isn't he? Grumpy Athos, stompy stompy stomp all the way to his study."

Athos heard Porthos snort as they entered into some sort of game as to who could accurately predict Athos' movements, each in increasingly moronic voices, until he shut the door and blocked them out.

All for thirty minutes, because eventually that painfully recognisable sound of a cat being strangled managed to sneak its way into his eardrums, and continued for a good five minutes.

"I am on my  _last_ nerve—" Athos halted on the stairs to see the living room in even more of a state, Porthos mumbling nothings to the baby and Aramis covered in what looked like a considerable amount of sick.

Then again, any amount was quite considerable.

"You were meant to get them, Porthos!" Aramis cried, barely discernible over the screams.

Porthos continued mumbling for a moment and then in the same soothing pitch said, "You didn't put 'em on the list, I got everythin' that was on it."

"How can you forget  _nappies_ , they're the most important thing!"

"An' here I thought it was food."

Aramis gave him a withering look, distractedly smiling at the way Porthos had the baby safely in the crook of his neck, even if it was bawling fit to burst. "I'll have to go and get some."

"Nah, I'll go."

"You'll get the wrong ones, and we can't leave Athos here with him—"

Aramis jumped out of the way when Porthos stepped on a pot of yoghurt that had somehow found its way to the floor. With a growl, Porthos thrust Alexandre into the hands of the closest person.

Which turned out to be Athos.

Athos made a confused noise somewhere between  _what_ and  _?!_ that didn't seem to register with anyone. What did attract everyone's attention, though, was the stuttered intake of breath and the quiet that followed.

The pair of them looked up with such slow realisation that Athos would have found funny if he wasn't trying to figure out where his hands should go. It didn't seem to matter, because the baby wriggled its way to comfortable anyway, uncaring of Athos' panic.

" _Dios mio,_ " Aramis whispered when Alexandre grizzled for a moment before settling down, and then for some reason Aramis covered his mouth.

It took a moment for Athos to realise he was laughing.

"I fail to see the funny side of this," Athos hissed, which set Porthos off, too.

"We'll be ten minutes, Athos, tops," Porthos promised, and dragged an adoring Aramis out of the door until Athos was alone.

Well, not quite alone.

"How am I supposed to know what to do with you?" Athos muttered, dubiously eyeing the mysterious little person still in his arms.

Those large brown eyes that were eerily familiar started to close, and then with a yawn that seemed to eclipse its entire tiny head, the baby wriggled closer to Athos' chest and stayed there.

Athos was getting a cramp in his arm, but he tentatively looked down to see wispy eyelashes pressed against chubby cheeks and came to the conclusion that he was being used as a pillow.

"Aramis does the same, you know," he murmured confidentially, and received a sleepy blink of acknowledgement. Something about it made Athos smile; he had seen that before, too. "I wouldn't pick up any more habits from him, or Constance—  _ta maman,_ will have our hides."

"I think we'll get more comfortable." Athos took a single step and Alexandre made an unhappy noise. "No, no, don't rouse yourself, I'll do it."

Which was why, twenty minutes later, Aramis and Porthos came home to find them napping on the sofa, Alexandre on Athos' chest, Athos with one hand curled protectively over Alexandre's head, his thumb ruffling the soft, feather-like hairs.

They paused, Porthos chuckling softly and Aramis with a dawning expression of ridiculous affection.

One blue eye flickered open into a frown, his voice pitched low so it didn't disturb the baby. "Not a word."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aramis and Porthos insisted on the nickname, even though Athos rolls his eyes at the need and it infuriates d'Artagnan - mostly because he keeps trying to shed Pup ( _I have a kid, guys, c'mon_ ) and it will **never happen**.
> 
> Little note to offer hugs to Lancelot, whose post is delayed because she's ill. Feel better, _ma cherie!_ <3
> 
> Your comments are like the wind to my chimes, so please leave one! You can find us on Tumblr at [ComeHitherAshes](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com) and SirLancelotTheBrave. The tags used are ([#2k15 April Writing Challenge](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/2k15-April-Writing-Challenge)) and ([#A Musketeers' Bloom](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/A-Musketeers%27-Bloom)).


	4. By The Books

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 4 - _Star-crossed lovers._
> 
> This was surprisingly difficult, and I totally planned on it being a fair Verona type setting, buuuut...
> 
>  **TAGS:** Constagnan, OT3, a plethora of Romeo and Juliet quotes, school, yeah that's right, ComeHither's dippin' her toe in schoolfic, sue me, also I will defend artistic!Porthos headcanon to the death.

"But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun. Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, who is already sick and pale with grief, that thou, her maid, is far more fair than she."

Athos didn't bother looking up from his work on the other side of the empty classroom. " _Art_ more fair, not is."

D'Artagnan frowned at Athos' encyclopaedic knowledge of quotes. "You don't even like  _'Romeo and Juliet'_ , you said it was pretentious."

Athos' voice contained that same bored tone. "No, I don't, and yes, it is."

D'Artagnan made a face and had to pretend to cough when Athos looked up with a warning look. "I can remember the meaning, just not the words themselves.  _Art more fair,_  well why not is? It's confusing!"

The corner of Athos' lip twitched upwards. "That's Shakespeare for you, and I wouldn't practice that around Aramis and Porthos if I were you."

"But I need to learn it, and why not? Constance has been helping me." Athos simply gave him a look that said that that was all he was saying of the matter.

D'Artagnan sighed, and somehow it made his tone perfect for the quote. "Love is a smoke raised with the fume of sighs; being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes; being vexed, a sea nourished with loving tears. What is it else? A madness most discreet, a choking gall, and a preserving sweet."

Athos raised both eyebrows ever so slightly, which, for Athos, was impressed. "You're getting good at that, it's almost as if—" The eyebrows dropped straight into unimpressed. "You're in love with her."

It was said as a fact, but d'Artagnan let out a series of scoffs, denials, and flat-out lies. "No! What would give you that impression? Why, just because I'm getting good at it, would it mean I love the person I'm saying it to? That's bonkers, why— why would I do something like that? She doesn't even like me… Does she, like me?"

Athos stared at him and then heaved a sigh that more befit someone who had to deal with a bus-load of school-children. "I refuse to believe this has fallen to me, go and ask Aramis."

"Mummy's busy," d'Artagnan teased, and grinned at the city-levelling stare it got him.

Athos returned his attention to his work. "Then ask Porthos, stop bothering me."

"Daddy's busy, too," d'Artagnan sighed, and moped his way out of the room.

D'Artagnan paused at the door when he spied Athos' curious look, and hyped himself up to tease Athos and then make a run for it. It happened so rarely, but Athos was ever unpredictable.

" _Where_ are they being busy?"

Athos had started packing his things up as if he had decided he was about to be very busy, too, and d'Artagnan released the breath he'd been holding disappointedly. "That stationary cupboard by Porthos' art rooms," he explained dully, and then, as an afterthought, added, "Daddy."

D'Artagnan peeled out of there quicker than cockroaches from light, but a growling Athos still managed to throw a pencil at him before he could duck into the library.

He managed about half an hour's worth of distraction-free reciting before Athos appeared in the doorway and sighed when he noticed d'Artagnan. "That's a nice greeting, thanks."

"Stop being in places that I am," Athos muttered, but still sat down at his table. D'Artagnan hid his smile, but he didn't bother when he noticed what looked like a blob of gouache on Athos' neck.

"Been busy," d'Artagnan drew out the pause as long as he could before adding, "painting?"

A familiar apathetic look. "Yes, Porthos has taken it upon himself to draw us for his project." Athos raised an arm covered in painted fingerprints. "It was rather more literal than I expected."

D'Artagnan peeked out from the safety of his hair, "Did you help him get the proportions right?"

Athos' look could have frozen fire, and he schooled d'Artagnan in the most literary of ways. "You are a lover; borrow Cupid's wings, and soar with them above a common bound."

D'Artagnan's mouth dropped open, both in surprise and defeat. "Seriously, how do you keep doing that?"

"He used to quote the play to Aramis."

D'Artagnan jumped at the sound of Constance's voice, but Athos just glared over his shoulder. " _Thank_  you."

Constance sat down as d'Artagnan's brain tried to catch up to itself and fall in love with her all over again. "Wait, you quoted Shakespeare to them, as, like, flirting?"

"I quote Shakespeare all the time," Athos muttered, refusing to give them his attention, but his eyes roved over the same section of paper about eight times.

"Yeah, but,  _love_ quotes?"

At the strangled pitch to d'Artagnan's laugh, Athos looked up with a sly gleam. "Yes, well, perhaps I knew them so well because  _I loved him._ "

D'Artagnan backed down immediately, trying to hide the flush on his cheeks. "It's a good play."

Athos gave him the smallest of smirks. "Lunch?"

D'Artagnan nodded out of instinct, but he paused when Constance's fingers landed on his arm. "Would you mind rehearsing with me, afterwards?"

It was a struggle not to immediately agree and forego eating forever. "Shouldn't you be studying with Jacques?"

"Maybe I want to study with you," Constance said simply, and d'Artagnan wondered whether his stars were aligning.

"Trespass sweetly urged," d'Artagnan quoted, and Constance's laugh followed him into the cafeteria where Athos ignored him when he started reciting lines under his breath.

"See how she leans her cheek upon her hand. O, that I were a glove upon that hand that I might touch that cheek!" A chip made contact with the side of his head and he glowered up at a grinning – and very paint-covered – Aramis and Porthos as they sat down.

"Not at the dinner table, d'Artagnan," Aramis chided, somehow getting away with drawing a heart on Athos' cheek with a purple finger. "So, Athos says you love her."

D'Artagnan gaped at Athos, who simply flicked him an amused glance as he tried to snap at Aramis' fingers. "I said nothing of the sort, but your expression's confirmed it, anyway."

Aramis snickered at d'Artagnan's wince. "It's my favourite play; our Juliet, of course, being Constance, and our Romeo, unfortunately, not being you."

D'Artagnan pouted. "It's not fair, there's no rules for this, I can't even do it like the book!"

Porthos shrugged. "You're the understudy, Pup, chances of gettin' it on the night are slim-to-none."

"It's true, I'm afraid, Jacques is the biggest glory-hound there is. You'd have to tie him down."

"Poison him?" Porthos suggested.

"Stab him, it's the Montague way," Athos remarked, earning Aramis' laugh.

"Exactly, although it rather fits the tale of woe if you don't manage it."

Porthos nodded, pretending to be grudging but clearly amused. "Fittin'."

Athos glanced at the clock – not surprising seeing as Aramis' hand had disappeared under the table. "Time, d'Artagnan."

He scarpered to the sound of Porthos saying something low and flirtatious ( _go on, say s'more, I wanna hear Aramis' breathing do the thing_ ), and ran for the safety of the library. Constance was in one of the study rooms, booked for the hour and already filled with her notes and flash cards.

It started innocently enough, but d'Artagnan started to fidget by the time they reached the fifth scene, his thoughts tripping over themselves as he thought ahead, to  _that_ line, and he found that during the act they'd stood closer to one another.

And she was looking straight at him with the sweetest smile.

"If I profane with my unworthiest hand this holy shrine, the gentle fine is this: my lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand to smooth that rough touch—" Constance cut him off, leaning forward to rest her fingers on his chest as her sigh parted his mouth.

Her kiss was like that of an angel's, or a saint's, or some other holy entity that had come down to the earth to steal his heart, and he acknowledged that love was a violent thing with delights and ends.

D'Artagnan lifted a palm until it cupped her cheek, wanting to taste and touch and remember the feel of her, just in case this was some simple rehearsal and not what he so desperately wanted it to be.

When Constance smiled, their kiss broke, but when he expected her to pull away, she simply whispered against his lips, "Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much."

Her hand didn't move, and neither did his, and so d'Artagnan tried to steady the nervous thump of his heart and said in a voice that sounded more pleading than composed, "Give me my sin again?"

Constance's laugh was a song to his ears and this time their kiss lasted longer, his breath coming shorter, and he knew that he would pass the world over for her, time and time again.

He'd leave the murdering to Athos, though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not gonna lie, I was tempted to put Aramis in the lead, bein' the melodramatic flirt that he is, but it didn't work out. Mercutio, though, he has to be Aramis' spirit animal or something. Also, as an aside, I'm away for a couple of days so please bear with me on posting times!
> 
> Your comments are like the water to my wheel, so please leave one! You can find us on Tumblr at [ComeHitherAshes](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com) and SirLancelotTheBrave. The tags used are ([#2k15 April Writing Challenge](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/2k15-April-Writing-Challenge)) and ([#A Musketeers' Bloom](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/A-Musketeers%27-Bloom)).


	5. Shopping Through Stained-Glass Windows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 5 - _We live in halls opposite each other and I keep seeing you changing through your window._
> 
> Anyone that tells me that characters don't come to life in one's head has never seen me sit down at my computer with no ideas and then suddenly words.
> 
>  **TAGS:** Porthathos, although I tend to put Athos first, but the tag doesn't work that way, and honestly this prompt fits the name, British TV references.

Athos huffed into the afternoon sky, relishing the faint chill that still lingered in the air. It cleared his head as only iced water tended to do, and he closed his eyes on a blissful inhale.

"Hey, s'Athos, right?"

Athos frowned, irritated at his rare peaceful moment being interrupted, and turned to the intruder with an insult ready. It whisked away like a leaf on the wind when he saw who it was.

Athos didn't know his name, what he did; in fact he knew relatively little about him. Except, that is, what he wore to bed – or, rather, what he didn't.

It had been an accident, the first time, and possibly the other few times he had caught a glimpse of bare, muscled flesh through the window across the path. Athos had felt guilty, he had, but the view was  _on offer_ , he couldn't have not seen if he had tried.

Although, in all fairness, he hadn't tried very hard, not when the stranger seemed to do everything with his curtains open.

And he meant  _everything._

And so peeping Tom had gone choked-off-groan first into voyeurism.

A hand was thrust in front of him, the right hand, the one he had seen an hour ago but from quite a distance away and moving fast.

Athos looked up like a flustered pheasant into a grin framed by bitten lips. "Porthos."

"Nice to meet you," Athos managed, his voice sounding strange to his own ears. He met Porthos' eye for as long as he could and then it skittered away, coming to rest on bare arms that he knew were strong enough to lift— "Don't you have a jacket?"

"Eh? Oh, must've put it down somewhere." Porthos turned on the spot, as if he had been sat out in the sunshine for some time, but Athos suddenly realised he wouldn't find it.

"It's on your bed."

The words left his mouth and Athos wondered whether he had just entered the realms of some impossible place where water flowed upwards and he said the first thing that came to mind.

For a single, idyllic second, Porthos' eyes lit up. "Yeah, that's it— wait, what the fuck?"

Athos just stared, and blinked, and would have quite happily paid a thousand pounds for someone to just shoot him, right there and then.

"Have… 'ave you been lookin' through my window?"

It wasn't said as accusatorily as Athos had expected, but he still jumped on the defensive. "Of course not."

"Fuck me, you're in the buildin' opposite, ain't you?"

"Of course not," he repeated, shifting his weight slightly, as if prepared to bolt.

Porthos' gaze travelled downwards, returning with a considering glint. "Who hosts  _University Challenge_?"

Athos opened his mouth but no sound came out, confusion edging very slightly on anxious as he thought about the show he watched every single week. "Jeremy Paxman."

"Two floors up," Porthos' looked away for a moment as he thought, "three windows along. You have a seriously big telly for such a small flat."

The joke scampered to the tip of Athos' tongue, it danced there, like a mint leaf tingling on his taste-buds, and Porthos grinned.

"Go on, what'd you wanna say?"

Athos swallowed it down and focused on the intoxicating mischief in front of him, on the person who knew he had been spying and yet didn't recoil. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"If I guess right, will you let me watch TV with you?"

Athos was tempted to say no, he wasn't sure if he would be able to hold out against the brutal affront of Porthos' grin. Porthos forged on anyway. "Okay, somethin' like,  _you can talk about big things for small places?_ "

Athos tried so very hard not to smile, he really did, but the muscles in his cheeks refused to obey. "You phrased it better than I would have."

Porthos shook his fist victoriously and then started walking backwards to Athos' room, as if encouraging him along. "Even if I was wrong you would've let me up, right?"

"Of course not."

Porthos snorted and shook his head, but he gave Athos a questioning look when he was hesitant once they reached his suite, his self-contained little world so that he didn't have to socialise unnecessarily.

Athos found himself unlocking his door anyway, through some hitherto unknown necessity to socialise with Porthos. "I don't have any food, I haven't had anyone over yet."

"That don't matt— really?" Porthos turned with a surprised look on his face and Athos realised how foolish that sounded, especially to someone as sociable as Porthos.

"That is, to say," Athos began, and then he realised that Porthos' smile was soft, pleased, not cruel, and so he spoke the truth, if only so that he could keep seeing that smile. "No, no one else."

"I 'ad wondered when I saw you, those few times." Porthos' smile suddenly disappeared, and then reappeared with a nervous laugh. "Ah, shit."

There was a strangely guilty gleam in Porthos' eyes, and it made Athos smirk. "I think you had enough visitors for the both of us."

"That was probably Aramis, he gives literally no fucks."

"I was going to go with societal awareness with a healthy dose of inhibitions, but that works, too." Athos cleared his throat and added, "Except, of course, literally."

Porthos nodded slowly, his grin more of a grimace. "You saw, then."

"It was difficult not to," Athos said dryly, thankful he wasn't the type to flush as Porthos was doing. "The hat was a nice touch."

Porthos snorted, half out of embarrassment, the other half was swiftly turning into a raised eyebrow. "You watched then, did you?"

Athos felt that same stab of fear, this time a little closer to his heart, the same heart that had felt as if it was in his throat when he saw Porthos being ridden by an equally gorgeous man wearing, of all things, a cowboy hat. "Of course not."

No one should have a smile that erotic, that  _knowing_. "There's that phrase again, I'm startin' to think you're always lyin' when you use it."

Athos panicked and changed the subject. "You knew which window I was, did you…?"

"Nah, noticed you, but..." Porthos threw himself onto Athos' bed, getting to grips with the television remote immediately, and when Athos stared in surprise at how comfortable he was, said, " _The Chase_ is on in five."

"The Chase?" Athos asked dubiously, and when Porthos changed the channel, added haughtily, "ITV?"

Porthos shot him a grin, patting the bed to coax Athos to perch on the edge. "Yeah, the adverts suck, but the questions are great."

Porthos' presence was like a visceral heat, causing Athos to treat his bed like a stranger and to forget all his general knowledge.

If Athos had ever felt satisfied at answering questions, he now felt like a fool, because for every question that he had right, Porthos had two. After one he would have sworn he knew, he asked angrily, "In what universe are the Norse gods Loki and Thor brothers?"

"The Marvel universe, keep up," Porthos teased, and when Athos scowled, started to laugh. "Don't pout, I'll show 'em to you."

"I was not pouting."

"Of course not," Porthos mimicked, and chuckled when Athos raised an eyebrow. "Now, I'm sure that look scares the shit out of everyone, but not me."

Porthos' voice had lowered slightly, and Athos heard it in his own when he asked, "Is that so?"

"Yeah, you wanna know why?" Porthos' smile showed teeth when Athos nodded slightly. "'Cause I reckon s'the exact same look you'd give me if I was on my knees at your feet." Porthos made a  _very_ thoughtful noise as he tilted his head to the side. "You can even wear the hat that you liked so much, if you want."

Athos felt as if liquid fire had replaced his blood, and he couldn't quite control the tiny noise of  _want_ that eked from his throat. His hand clenched on the bed, and Porthos' landed on top of it, shuffling forward until they were centimetres apart and Athos' heart was going haywire.

"I'm gonna kiss you, that okay?"

 _Such a gentleman._ "Of course not."

Porthos' laugh was full of teeth, and then they clicked against Athos', clicked because Athos surged forward with the  _need_ to taste him, to taste the earthy vitality of him.

"Easy," Porthos murmured with a slow, almost painful suck of Athos' lower lip. "I'm gonna leave this up to you, alright? I can go, an' we can do this properly another time, or I can stay, an' I can do what I've wanted to do ever since I saw you do it."

Athos felt his body clench even as he frowned. "You did watch me, you lied."

"Would I do somethin' like that?"

A truly sinful smile graced Porthos' face and Athos licked his lips, fisting a hand in Porthos' t-shirt. "Of course not."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Chase is brilliant, though, you can't deny that - and Paul Sinha is the best Chaser, because it's a fact and because Porthos would agree.
> 
> Your comments are like the nourishing earth to my roots, so please leave one! You can find us on Tumblr at [ComeHitherAshes](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com) and SirLancelotTheBrave. The tags used are ([#2k15 April Writing Challenge](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/2k15-April-Writing-Challenge)) and ([#A Musketeers' Bloom](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/A-Musketeers%27-Bloom)).


	6. The Cookie Dough Slayer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 6 - _You’re baking cookies in the communal kitchen at 3am and I’m angry but also really hungry._
> 
> I kinda forgot the anger bit, but I think you'll forgive me?
> 
>  **TAGS:** Athos/Porthos, Athos/Aramis, basically OT3 but not, posted in time by the skin of my teeth, which is a weird phrase, points available for my hasty title reference.

It was the scent of cookies that finally drew Aramis from his revision and his stomach growled unhappily at him when he realised the time.

He knew the kitchen would be busy, he had seen two familiar faces in the hallway before he had run to his room with hearts in his eyes.

Aramis had almost thought that Athos had noticed him, just for a second, but he couldn't have done, because Porthos definitely had when he smiled as he passed a few seconds later.

It still made his stomach do flips, but Porthos smiled at everyone, and it wasn't only  _Porthos'_ smile he craved – his Mama had always said that he wanted what he could never have.

Aramis almost thought that they had gone in the kitchen together, but that was impossible, it was like putting fire and ice together, one would devour the other.

Still, Aramis could definitely hear two voices from inside, one teasing and soft, the other dry and disparaging.

"Go on, you know you wanna."

"Put that spoon anywhere near me, Porthos, and I will gut you with it. I do not eat dough off of implements."

"Yeah? Then how 'bout from here?"

"That might be acceptable," was the murmured reply, and the suspicious silence was too much for Aramis to bear, who just had to peek through the door.

What he saw stunned his jaw into dropping.

Athos, terrifying, haughty, icy Athos, was licking cookie dough off of Porthos' lips, Porthos, the nicest, friendliest, warmest guy on campus.

It was the most erotic thing he had ever seen.

Porthos went to pull away but Athos had him by the shirt collar, his teeth catching on Porthos' lip when he chuckled, "So greedy."

"How can I resist? It's delicious."

"Me or the cookie dough?" Porthos asked, and his hand snaked into Athos' hair when he would have answered. "Think  _very_ carefully 'bout what you're gonna say."

Aramis fully expected Athos to grow fangs, sprout wings, and tear Porthos to pieces for that, but instead he shivered, a sliver of blue peeking from under his eyelids, and a very quiet, "You."

Porthos' grin was supremely satisfied and it wasn't surprising, Aramis had thought that the only time Athos had submitted to something was being born – because it seemed as though he had regretted it ever since.

But here he was, not only playing nice, but being manhandled and  _enjoying_ it.

Just when Aramis thought he was hallucinating, Porthos slid his fingers down Athos' back and it was then that he struck.

Aramis winced when Porthos' back met the wall with a smack, but the only effect it had on the pair of them was Athos' very low laugh when Porthos snarled, and then they were kissing again, biting and sucking on the other's tongue, grunts from Porthos and breaths from Athos.

Someone from along the hallway slammed their door and they each made an unhappy noise before parting, Athos snatching the bowl of cookie dough as they sat down.

Porthos' snort of laughter brought his head up, and the moment he clocked Aramis, something sly whispered across his face. "Hey, again."

Athos jerked, much as Aramis did, and the attention Aramis had wanted so badly was suddenly all his as he stumbled into the room, bereft of his usual tact, but full of nerves at being in the presence of an impossibility.

A really hot impossibility.

"Hey."

Porthos gestured to a seat. "Cookie?"

"Biscuit," Athos corrected under his breath, and Porthos' challenging smile told Aramis that it was an old argument.

How had he missed this? It was obvious now, the way they moved around each other, Athos stepping out of the way before being told to, Porthos' brief touches on whatever part of Athos he could reach.

How had he managed to lust after Athos all this time and not realise that his heart of ice had already been melted?

"Weren't plain ol' biscuits that got 'im in my lap that first night of term," Porthos said in a faux-whisper, and once again Aramis expected to see blood and bone where Porthos had once stood, but Athos simply twirled his wrist lazily.

"Tell the world, why don't you?"

That should have calmed Aramis down, but then Porthos offered Aramis a conspiratorial wink and he had to grab for a cookie before he could think about the pair of them, together. "Thanks, I've been studying for hours, not sure when I last ate."

Porthos' brow furrowed in concern, but the tray that slid towards him came from Athos, who looked away immediately.

"You have some, um, cookie dough," Aramis began, pointing at his own lip but looking at Athos.

Athos lifted a hand, but Porthos grabbed his wrist. "Nope, you know the rule."

Humour flickered like falling leaves in Porthos' eyes, and wrath glittered like snow in Athos', sexual tension suddenly filling the room like water fills a ravine.

It took a moment for Aramis to realise his cookie was by his mouth but he wasn't eating it.

Porthos' thumb rubbed along Athos' wrist, and then Athos rolled his eyes, once again proving that, sometimes, the impossible can happen, because his tongue darted out and he licked the dough away, raising an eyebrow in a  _happy now?_ movement.

"What's the rule?" Aramis asked quietly, his blood pumping uncomfortably under his skin, his brain giving him dozens of helpful images of Athos' tongue in other places.

"If you get somethin' on yourself, you gotta lick it off," Porthos' smile showed teeth, "or someone does."

Aramis almost thought that the flush that suffused his cheeks was mirrored on Athos', but Porthos cleared his throat loudly, "Athos said you 'ave class together, right?"

If Aramis hadn't had his eyes glued to Athos for the last two years, he might not have seen the tensing of his shoulders, the little look aimed at Porthos who innocently munched away.

Aramis' own body had frozen.

Had Athos  _noticed_ him?

"Yes, we've had at least one class together every term," Aramis replied, and then could have smacked himself for being so obvious – and he had  _not_ jumped for joy every time he had seen Athos' name on the class list.

Porthos' smile grew interested. "That so?"

"Maybe," Aramis hastened to add, sneaking a glance at Athos who had started watching him carefully, "I think?"

"C'mon, let me tell 'im," Porthos begged, laughing all the while, "s'adorable."

Athos' eyes narrowed, his voice frosty, "Do anything of the sort and I'll put  _you_ in the oven."

"You couldn't work the oven if I wrote an' illustrated the instructions."

"Then I'll ask Aramis to do it," Athos muttered, but he wouldn't meet Aramis' eye for some reason, which was probably a good thing, because he was currently in raptures at hearing his own name in Athos' soft voice.

"Tell me what?"

Porthos' grin was at once affectionate and insatiable. "Athos, right, ever since first year—"

"It wasn't as early as first year," Athos interrupted, but Porthos kept speaking over him.

"—an' you had that French class together—"

"Was it French? I don't recall."

"—an' you were wearin' these white jeans—"

"Did you document this or something?"

"—he's 'ad a crush on you."

"I refuse to be a part of this conversation," Athos announced, and stood in a loud clattering of chair legs, pointedly ignoring Porthos' shit-eating grin.

Aramis stared at the focus of his crush with wide eyes, his pulse like that of a hummingbird's. " _Ever since_ , as in, still does?"

"You were right, love, 'e does catch on quick."

"What a shame you don't," Athos muttered when Porthos didn't move his chair to let Athos pass. "Move."

"You're givin' a shit impression."

"I don't  _care_ ," Athos said forcefully, something desperate in it. "Move!"

Porthos did not, and so Athos held one hand against Porthos' chest and climbed over his lap in a graceful move that would have tripped anyone else.

There were about three feet between Athos and the door.

And then Aramis was in the way, too.

"It wasn't French," Aramis said softly, unsure whether to focus on what was definitely a pink tinge on pale cheeks, or the blue eyes that jumped from agonised to astonished. "It was linguistics."

Aramis could feel Athos' sharp inhale against his skin. "You couldn't remember all the past imperfect verbs."

"I still can't."

The very edge of Athos' mouth lifted. "I don't believe that."

"I need tutoring," Aramis blurted, and bit his lip when Athos stared at him in slowly dawning delight, and Aramis almost thought he heard his stars aligning.

"I… could help with that."

Porthos wiped imaginary flour off of his hands. "An' that is the way the cookie crumbles."

Athos heaved a sigh when the delicate beauty of the moment was ruined. "Shall we leave him here?"

"Good idea," Aramis said over Porthos' indignant noises, and then added, "Bring the cookie dough."

Athos' eyebrow rose along with his smirk. "I'm going to _enjoy_ studying with you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to cut this down massively, it sprawled - much like Aramis would atop Athos - way over the word limit so I hope it still makes sense. In short, Athos really does try to help Aramis study, but Aramis insists that it would be better done in his lap, and when Porthos arrives, he starts laughing at the torn expression on Athos' face and tempts Aramis _and_ Athos into his own lap with fresh cookies.
> 
> Your comments are like the chocolate chips to my cookies, so please leave one! You can find us on Tumblr at [ComeHitherAshes](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com) and SirLancelotTheBrave. The tags used are ([#2k15 April Writing Challenge](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/2k15-April-Writing-Challenge)) and ([#A Musketeers' Bloom](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/A-Musketeers%27-Bloom)).


	7. Not Your Normal Cufflinks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 7 - _Person A loses a bet to Person B, so they have to be handcuffed together for the entire day. (Bonus: This should be funnier with a Person C.)_
> 
> Slight change in the listing because there were three student ones right next to each other, so 7 and 27 have swapped. I've had a lot of affectionate messages for this pairing lately, so this is a gift to those of you love this ship as much as I do - you should know who you are.
> 
>  **TAGS:** Porthathos, my foreverpair, swearing 'n' smut, points available for references, two of which are in Porthos' dialogue (one's a tough one for non-Brits, might do a drabble for whoever gets it), and the other is what game I've been playing to mention honey badgers.

"Surely you can't be serious."

"I'm serious, an' don't call me Shirley."

Athos blinked at a wildly grinning Porthos, and then slowly turned to Aramis. "I will not spend all day with this buffoon."

"Hey!"

Aramis didn't bother hiding his laugh. "You agreed to this, Athos, remember?"

"What I agreed to were a few drinks, and now somehow I've been roped into this… this…  _debacle_!"

"Look, Athos, just 'cause you lost—"

"I did  _not_ lose."

"You kind of did, Athos," Aramis affirmed happily, and simply clapped his hands together when Porthos dug in his back-pocket and produced a pair of handcuffs.

Athos hissed. "Why do you even have those?"

Porthos shrugged and walked over to crowd him. "Confidence?"

"No, wait," Athos refused to call it fear in his voice, "I can't do this, I have an appointment with a client."

There was a click, and then Porthos' right fingers twined with his left ones, his lips hot against Athos' ear. "Always wanted to see your office."

Athos protestations were surpassed by Aramis'. "I'm actually disappointed to be busy today."

"Your loss, sweet," Porthos taunted, "maybe you'll get a chance tonight."

"Don't count on it," Athos muttered, but he did smirk at Aramis' wistful look until his phone's alarm went off.

It was a chore just getting to his city office, let alone with Porthos holding his hand and dragging him into impromptu kisses as if they were teenagers again.

"Athos?"

Now that they were safely inside, Athos realised that Porthos was looking down at himself.

"Oh,  _tu prostitué._ "

"D'you just call me a tart?"

Athos ignored him to whisper angrily, "You can't wear a leather jacket into my office."

Porthos' smile was sunshine and sin. "You're welcome to try take it off me."

Athos made an infuriated noise somewhere in the range of a pissed off honey badger. "You'll just have to sit in with me; I have no time to argue with you."

Porthos' brows rose. "Really? Thought I was gonna get a fight—"

"Shut up and sit down," Athos ordered, shoving Porthos into a chair by his side of the desk, ignoring the heated looking Porthos threw him just in time for his client to walk in.

Athos did what he did best, and lied. "This is Monsieur du Vallon, he's shadowing me today, but he's a  _silent party_ ," the latter was said very forcefully in Porthos' direction, who was looking positively cherubic.

The client offered Porthos a bland smile and then, thankfully ignored him. Porthos, however, took this slight to heart because he did his level-best to be distracting. It started with a tug on Athos' wrist, the tightening of metal against his skin, and then a hand smoothed over his leg.

Athos was used to this, and his poker face was perfect when he wanted it to be, but he kept forgetting details of the proposition whenever he had to cover a twitch.

Finally, when the client excused himself to make a phone call, Athos could round on Porthos. "What are you doing?"

Porthos gave him a sly smile, in no way cowed by his vehemence. "I like seein' you bein' a businessman, s'hot as Hell."

Athos refused to let the shiver at the base of his spine affect him, nor indeed the renewed grip on his knee, or the thumb that swept up his thigh.

"Porthos—!"

Athos had to yank his hand down so that it would force Porthos' away from where it had been getting close to, and somehow managed to offer his thanks to the client when he returned to confirm the deal.

Athos sighed with relief when he could shake with his right hand, and promptly grabbed Porthos by the ear and dragged him home, Porthos snickering all the way.

"That was fun," Porthos announced once he had bundled Athos onto the sofa.

"I am never playing games with you and Aramis again," Athos murmured, vowing revenge as soon as he had slept off a little of the morning's excitement.

"Sure you won't," Porthos chuckled, tucking Athos under his neck so that their arms lay comfortably over Athos' shoulder.

Athos was almost asleep when he heard Porthos' phone ring, and he muttered a grumpy expletive that made Porthos laugh.

After a muffled apology against his head, Porthos answered quietly, and all of a sudden the laughter disappeared.

"Yeah, 'course, sir. What, now? Er, I can't— No, no, fine."

Athos opened one eye to see Porthos very deliberately not looking at him, the tight line of his jaw just inches away from Athos' mouth.

"Think Cromarty was 31, sir, but you'd be better of checkin' the books— Yeah, I know it like the back of my hand, great."

Athos lifted himself up on one elbow very, very slowly, and Porthos swallowed nervously when he saw his growing smirk.

Athos lunged, sucking a mark on Porthos' jugular, hard and hot until he felt the blood pumping underneath it, and Porthos' hand was doing its best to try and grab him by the scruff of his neck.

"Viking was the 58, I  _think_ ," the last word was strained as Athos ducked under the arm intent on collaring him and twisted just so until Porthos was trapped and Athos could lean over him menacingly.

Porthos snapped his teeth at him, trying to ward him away, but Athos licked at Porthos' lip and then dipped away when Porthos snarled and tried to angle the phone away. "Fuck's sake, Athos, stop it!"

Athos raised an eyebrow, putting his full weight on their connected wrists, and dragged one hand down Porthos' front as he pretended to consider it.

"I think not."

Porthos made a noise that, on Aramis, might have been called a whimper, and then he coughed down the phone. "No, it's fine, I know s'important. Faeroes was, uh," Porthos stopped, his eyes darting to Athos' confused ones for a second before closing. "It was 69."

Athos' soft laugh was full of sudden inspiration and so he lowered himself to Porthos' waist, turning the thumb caught in his palm enough that it would twinge painfully if moved.

Porthos held his phone away from his ear, expression desperate as Athos flicked the buttons of his jeans open. "Athos, please, this ain't fair!"

Athos ran his finger along the inside of Porthos' waistband. "You want to talk about  _fair,_ Porthos? Fair, like the cards you had up your sleeve this morning?"

"You  _knew_?"

"Please," Athos murmured, tugging on Porthos' jeans, "you do me disfavour, you could have walked into my office naked and I still could have sealed that deal."

Athos' knuckles brushed something painfully stiff, and Porthos made a tortured noise before smacking his phone against his ear again. "No, no, I'm here, sorry, no, I  _know_ s'our biggest client."

Athos hesitated, genuinely caught in what might have been termed an ethical dilemma. He sighed and started to remove his hand, smirking at Porthos' relief, but then he saw something.

"What…" Athos started, and then wiggled his fingers between smooth flesh and scratchy denim until he drew something out. " _You had more fucking cards?_ "

Porthos' eyes had gone wide with fear at his tone. "Athos, I swear, I forgot they were there."

Athos tutted dangerously, waving the card back and forth. "Cheaters never prosper, Porthos, everyone knows that."

There was a tinge of desperation in Porthos' voice, now, "Forties was 26, yeah, ironic."

Athos rolled his eyes, muttered, "That's not irony," and then he licked a stripe along Porthos' cock.

The groan was torn from Porthos' throat, mostly because he had tried to grab for Athos' head and ended up hurting his captured thumb. Athos let him go, but before Porthos' fingers could twist in his hair and pull him away, Athos swallowed Porthos' cock into his mouth.

He looked up in time to see Porthos gnawing on his fist to stifle the sounds he wanted to make, and Athos couldn't stop his own pleased noise at the sight, which had Porthos throwing his head back with a curse.

The phone was liable to crack at this rate, so Athos pulled back slightly, keeping the flat of his tongue against the head, his smile tugging at one corner of his wet lips.

Porthos heaved a breath, eyeing Athos warily, and then he slowly moved the phone back to his ear, as if sudden movement might prompt Athos to strike. "Yeah, that's all of 'em. Look, I got an emergency 'ere, I gotta go."

The phone had barely started its arc across the room when Athos found himself yanked by the shoulder until he straddled Porthos' legs, their connected hands lacing together, as Athos' other braced on Porthos' chest and Porthos' squeezed the back of his neck. "I am gonna fuckin' cuff you to the chair."

Athos laughed, rolling his hips against Porthos' bare ones. "Your other pair is under the sofa."

There was a brief moment of surprise, and then another when Athos raced him to them.

Porthos lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was another severely cut one after over-writing, hope it still makes sense!  
> My omniscient!Athos headcanon is one of my favourites, and, yes, drinking before work, liquid courage for the day ahead - a habit born from tequila shots and lemon wedges before lectures (because I clearly took my education very seriously).
> 
> Your comments are the key to my cuffs, so please leave one! You can find us on Tumblr at [ComeHitherAshes](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com) and SirLancelotTheBrave. The tags used are ([#2k15 April Writing Challenge](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/2k15-April-Writing-Challenge)) and ([#A Musketeers' Bloom](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/A-Musketeers%27-Bloom)).


	8. Double-Stuffed Olives

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 8 - _Grocery shopping._
> 
> You know it blew my mind when you couldn't buy alcohol in the supermarket in the States? I don't know how I'd convince myself to walk around the store without the promise of wine at the end of it. (EDIT: And now, having just read Lancelot's, I am Athos.)
> 
>  **TAGS:** OT3, 4 if you're into that sort of thing, silly babies going food shopping, so many Britishisms, and franchises, hot damn, it's almost like I live there, television show reference available, is my title joke too crass?

Porthos leaned on the blue handlebar of the Tesco trolley and, before he could even say the words  _now don't wander off_ , they had gone.

To his left, there was a little kid sat quietly in his mum's trolley, feet kicking idly as he smiled when Porthos stuck his tongue out at him.

Now, why couldn't he have one of those? Or some sort of series of leads so that he could leash them all to the cart and not have them running amok around the store.

D'Artagnan returned first, tossing in a huge multipack of crisps and then eyeing Porthos hopefully. Then again, maybe it was better if they did cause havoc elsewhere.

But Porthos was a sucker for puppy eyes. "Fine, go on then."

D'Artagnan laughed victoriously and hopped onto the bar that ran along the front of the cart, whooping with joy when Porthos pushed him along.

"Bloody kids, the lot of you," Porthos muttered, but he smiled when d'Artagnan managed to snatch things off of the shelves as they passed. "Grab some olive oil, too."

D'Artagnan snorted, almost overbalancing as he reached for a glass bottle. "Only the first pressing for Athos?"

"Don't want anyone else havin' their fun with the olives, eh?"

Their laughter was interrupted by Aramis skidding to a halt next to them, throwing in what looked like bundles of Cadburys. "All the Easter eggs are on sale, I'm making the most of it."

D'Artagnan nodded wisely, sweeping another shelf's worth inside. "It's true, we'll be able to eat chocolate for months."

"More like days," Porthos said a little wistfully, already imagining the sticky fingers and sweet smiles this would elicit.

He threw in a few more boxes for good measure, and rolled his eyes when he saw Aramis and d'Artagnan swiping petulantly at each other.

"Fine then, I'm getting  _in_ the cart," Aramis announced, and promptly hooked one long leg over the edge.

"Mind the bread," Porthos called, only to be ignored when d'Artagnan tried to skewer Aramis with a baguette.

Athos returned with a bottle of wine in each hand and one under each arm, glancing at them sceptically as if they had already disappointed him. "We'll have to go to Waitrose."

Porthos rolled his eyes. "Athos, we're not goin' all the way to Waitrose."

"Porthos, they don't have my olives," Athos used the same tone, as if it was obvious, and then frowned at the two children bickering in the trolley. "Why do you let them do that?"

Porthos aimed a very unimpressed look at him. " _You_ can keep 'em in line, if you want, they're like fuckin' toddlers."

"Losing your touch,  _mon coeur_?" Athos murmured, smirking at the growl it earned him.

Porthos made a mental note to make Athos beg very, very soon, but for now he watched him deposit his bottles safely in the cart and attempt to wrangle the hellions.

Athos cleared his throat and two guilty faces looked up at him. "Out." D'Artagnan stepped off of the front bar with a grumble, and Aramis, after a huge sigh, clambered out and pretended to fall into Athos' arms.

"Will you carry me instead,  _mon cher_?"

"No," Athos insisted, but his lips had the barest curve to them. That was, until, he saw the state of the trolley. "Did you sit on my olive oil?"

Aramis tried to disentangle himself, but Athos' hands firmed on his waist. "I taste better with it than bread does?"

"He sat on that, too," Porthos called out helpfully, leaning his elbows on the handrail to enjoy the show. "An' I  _think_ they were makin' a fort out of those fancy shell chocolate things you like."

"I would never touch your  _Guylian_ , Athos, unless you were going to lick it off me," Aramis pleaded, and Porthos snorted at the obvious attempt of seductive distraction – even if it was a tasty mental image.

A Kinder Egg was tossed very gently at Athos' head, and in the stunned silence that followed, d'Artagnan whispered, "Run!"

Aramis tore out of Athos' grip, grabbing d'Artagnan's hand as they slipped and slid down the aisle before fearfully peering back at the end.

Athos had caught the treat before it fell to the floor, and he observed it for a moment before slowly looking up at the two startled songbirds. Athos crushed the egg, took one step, and they fell over each other in their panic to get away.

Porthos was still staring open-mouthed when Athos turned to walk the other way past him, the sounds of terror fading as Porthos whistled. "You gonna let that stand?"

"Aramis wants to think himself a tasty appetiser? Well, we'll see about that."

Porthos chuckled at what sounded like a very dangerous threat coming from Athos' frosty tones. "I don't think they make plates human-size."

"Then I will take him on the kitchen floor," Athos called over his shoulder, apparently now completely uncaring of everyone else listening in.

Porthos' lips downturned in thought before lifting again. "Sounds fun."

The gleam in Athos' eye said it definitely would be, and they spent the rest of the shop listing ideas for the evening.

At one point they saw d'Artagnan wide-eyed from listening in to one particularly detailed and probably sticky thought, and within a minute they both reappeared looking apologetic and bearing more wine.

Athos pretended not to notice, but he did trace a bottle neck and catch Porthos' eye with a smile.

By the time they reached the checkout, all that managed to pass unscathed through the tills were the bottles of wine and some more sweets d'Artagnan had somehow sneaked in. The rest was squashed bread, pieces of chocolate, and what was likely a bag of crisp crumbs.

Porthos sighed at the carnage, getting three little affectionate touches of apology on the way out. "We're doin' this online, from now on, alright?"

The first thing on the list that night was more olive oil, and something to clean it off the walls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's genuinely so difficult for me to write OT4, it's a bit like writing with one hand whilst covering my eyes with the other. I prefer it to be OT3 with the Pup hanging about, being mildly disgusted with them, _je suis désolée._
> 
> Your comments are like the pounds to my locked trolleys, so please leave one! You can find us on Tumblr at [ComeHitherAshes](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com) and SirLancelotTheBrave. The tags used are ([#2k15 April Writing Challenge](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/2k15-April-Writing-Challenge)) and ([#A Musketeers' Bloom](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/A-Musketeers%27-Bloom)).


	9. Inigo, I Am Your Father

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 9 - _accidentally swapped phones with someone at a party and don’t realize until their mom calls in the morning and you spend like three hours talking to this hilarious woman about life and when you go to her house to return her kid’s phone wow the kid is the really good kisser from the party last night au_
> 
> Just a heads up, I know my big cats, but not everyone will read "chuffing" as the friendly thing that it is, so I've put purring, instead.
> 
>  **TAGS:** Portamis, wiggled the prompt a bit, but there is a mum involved, and a daddy, this rollercoasters from fluff to smut so quickly I got whiplash, ComeHither gets in her cat references again, obvious film references are obvious, look at that seamless meld in the title.

Aramis was passed out catatonic on his bed, still dressed in last night's clothes – which, in fairness, wasn't much – and with what felt like tequila on his chin.

He winced, his tongue smacking dryly against his lips. It wasn't tequila, but he'd dribbled into his pillow, and he could taste every single shot he'd had the night before in the vaguely  _oh-God-kill-me_ tang of his mouth.

With a pitiful whine, he tried to lift his head to look at his bedside table for some water, but then he remembered that Athos was away for the weekend; which meant no water, no one to gently chide him, no one to cuddle into.

Aramis whimpered. No scrambled eggs for breakfast.

Life was bleak.

He escaped this prospect by burying his head under his damp pillow, the rings on his fingers catching in his matted hair, and he struggled with them for a moment before collapsing in a pathetic heap of blankets and denim, crying out for no one in particular.

It took a moment to realise he was perfectly in pitch with his phone's vibration, which was presumably somewhere in this pit of despair.

Aramis wriggled, a bit, a half-arsed attempt at the best of times, but he made a renewed effort when it continued to ring.

This early in the morning, it could only be one person, and he loved her too much to ignore her call – or the tirade it would earn him if he did.

" _Buenos días, mamá, es demasiado pronto_ ," he sighed, resting the phone on his cheek so he could still sprawl on the bed, wishing that his mother would remember the time difference.

A very gruff male voice answered, "Er, hello?"

Aramis' eyes snapped open, and he snatched the phone from his ear to peer blearily at it. The name  _Treville_ blazed back at him, and he scowled tiredly. "Sorry, I was expecting someone else, who's this?"

There was an amused pause. "This is Treville, who's this?"

Aramis' eyes opened again, slower this time as he glanced at the screen once more, at that unfamiliar name entered into the contact details. "This isn't my phone."

"No, I don't think it is."

Aramis would have hung up immediately, but there was a sense of laughter in that voice that made him ask, "Do you know whose it is?"

"Well, I dialled… Maybe I was wrong. How do I tell?"

Aramis pushed his cheek into his pillow and smiled sleepily, well used to parents who fumbled with technology. "Tap the screen."

There was a scuffling, and then the voice returned. "Ah, yes, thank you."

"You're welcome," Aramis yawned, scrubbing at an eye and covering his fingers with eyeliner. "So whose phone do I have?"

"Porthos'."

Aramis mumbled the name under his breath and then made a deliberative noise into his blankets. "I don't recognise it."

"Then why do you have his phone?"

Aramis' shrug was lost over the airwaves. "I must have picked it up last night by mistake."

"Ah, you were at that party."

"Does Porthos tell his papa everything? My mama would kill me if she knew I was out drinking all night."

Treville gave a soft laugh of surprise. "She sounds like a good woman, able to keep you in hand."

"It's a struggle," Aramis replied idly, rolling onto his back. "She blames me for her grey hairs."

"I don't doubt it, you're talking to a stranger as we speak."

"Nonsense, you're Porthos' Papa."

That same laugh, as if he was well used to rambunctious boys. "I'm not his father, well, not by blood."

"Since when has that mattered?" Aramis asked archly, and then added, "Do you have any stories of him as a baby?"

"Yes?"

"Then you are, by rights, his papa," Aramis decided firmly, and as he managed to roll out of bed, asked, "Will you tell me one?"

Aramis could hear Treville shaking his head, but after a reminder to drink some water and eat a sandwich on his way out of the door, Porthos' Papa obliged.

Aramis was still smiling when he arrived at Constance's, picking his way through the already immaculate house with accustomed ease until he came across a frantically cleaning d'Artagnan in the kitchen, and somebody talking to him.

"Pup, 'ave you seen a guy with my phone?"

Aramis hesitated, recognising that voice from when it had whispered dirty secrets in his ear and had him shivering against the wall the night before. That voice hadn't belonged to  _Porthos_ , it had belonged to  _du Vallon_ , the name his friends had called him; that was the name that had left Aramis' mouth in a contented cry.

Porthos was the cute kid he had heard about, but du Vallon was the one with the kisses that still seemed to linger on Aramis' skin.

Life was brilliant.

Aramis ruffled his hair, undid a button on his shirt, and mock-gasped from across the room as Constance appeared to drag d'Artagnan off by the ear. "You? You killed my father, prepare to die."

Porthos' eyes lit on his phone only for a second before whisking up and down Aramis' body with a grin. "Actually, I hear s'you who killed mine. Did you 'ave to tell 'im how late this went?"

Aramis shrugged as he walked over, careful to put some extra sway into his step. "It was funny. How did you know?"

Porthos' arm shifted restlessly, as if it wanted to settle on Aramis' hip as it had last night. Aramis found himself wishing that it would. "He called Constance afterwards, figured I was on their sofa."

Aramis recalled his own night of loneliness and remembered those laughing lips against his with a pang of want. "Shame."

Porthos' grin took on a lewd edge, before it turned into a scolding tease. "Yeah, well, if I remember, I went to get you a drink an' then you disappeared."

"It was past midnight," Aramis explained airily, "my carriage turned into a pumpkin."

"An'  _then_  you stole my phone."

"I had to get home safely," Aramis defended lightly, wishing Porthos would just kiss him again.

" _I_ would've taken you 'ome if you hadn't run off," Porthos said softly, and Aramis realised that this was the Porthos that Treville had spoken of, sweet and protective and loyal to a fault.

 _Porthos du Vallon_ , Aramis thought, letting the full name twine around his tongue, and decided that he loved the taste of it.

Aramis had to take actions into his hands and stepped straight up to Porthos', fingers tracing a button on Porthos' shirt as he looked up into warm brown eyes. "Well, aren't you the perfect gentleman?"

The warmth turned hot, and Aramis smiled when that hand returned to its place on his hip. "I wouldn't say that."

Porthos neared, just a bit, just enough to have Aramis inhaling expectantly.

"Treville told me about the time you insisted on dressing as Luke Skywalker every single day for a month," Aramis whispered, and it came out a little choked because Treville had told him why.

Had told him that it was when Porthos had found out about his own father, and had aspired to be something more, something different.

"Yeah? Did 'e also tell you that 'e grew out his beard so he could look like Obi-Wan an' be my mentor?" Porthos asked with fond embarrassment.

Aramis' smile wobbled at the memory of pride in Treville's voice when he talked about Porthos, at the happiness in Porthos' when he spoke about his mentor, his father.

"I'd like to meet him," he said finally, and nibbled his lip when it sounded so forward.

"He said the same 'bout you," Porthos said, his smile as hopeful as Aramis', "an' that you should teach me Spanish."

Aramis settled against Porthos' chest and hummed happily. "There's a fee."

"Oh yeah? What's that?"

"A kiss," Aramis murmured, and Porthos was licking at his lips before he could finish, which deprived him of all thought for a moment. A warm hand cupped his jaw, fingertips playing with his curls, familiar things, and if Aramis had needed any more proof that this was the same person, the molten flame that curled through his veins gave it to him.

The flames flickered softly when they reached his heart this time, though, something sweet and loyal.

Porthos pulled away, but only so far as to look into Aramis' eyes and smile, which prompted him to blurt, "And I want to see those pictures of Luke."

Porthos gave a low chuckle of surprise, his grin considering as his thumb smoothed gently over Aramis' cheek. "I still 'ave the lightsaber."

Caught betwixt the paws of a tiger that roared as it purred, Aramis couldn't help the shiver that spanned his spine as protectively as Porthos' hand did. "I bet you do."

Porthos' laugh was a rapturous rumble against Aramis' mouth, and if it made him a Sith to decide that he already loved Porthos absolutely, then so be it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somebody please scream about Daddy Treville with me.  
> I have this weird love for people calling their friends by their last names, idk why. Also, I fear that I (1) cut this too much, and (2) need to brush up on my Spanish.
> 
> Your comments are like the Force to my Jedi, so please leave one! You can find us on Tumblr at [ComeHitherAshes](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com) and SirLancelotTheBrave. The tags used are ([#2k15 April Writing Challenge](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/2k15-April-Writing-Challenge)) and ([#A Musketeers' Bloom](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/A-Musketeers%27-Bloom)).


	10. It's Surely the Height of Her Character

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 10 - _Imagine Person A of your OTP in art school. One day in class Person A has to draw a nude model. Person B is the model._
> 
> I'm delving into a new pairing and a new PoV today, I hope it pleases - let me know! Extra points for today's title reference, 'cause it's one of my favourites, and there's still a reference in Day 7 that hasn't been found...!
> 
>  **TAGS:** Fleanon, the first one ever, background Portamis/OT3, Aramis can be a right little jealous shit, I never realised how frustrating he must be, Flea is a mouthy thing, and I love her for it, also, guess what, more cat references, ayy lmao.

Ninon set up her easel much as she did every Friday, her pencils in neat lines on her table, order amongst the chaos of the art room.

It was filled with light today, the sun shining brightly through the window, the breeze on her neck as she tied her hair in a French braid.

Just as she had captured every little strand, Aramis appeared at the easel next to hers to pull her fringe free.

With her hands still tying the ends together, the escaped hair fell in front of her most unimpressed look. "Thank you."

"Did you learn that look from Athos, or him from you?" Aramis asked idly, tugging at another bit of blonde until it framed her cheeks in a way that she knew looked cute, but would annoy her whilst she was drawing.

Ninon blew in his face. "From me, and I can teach him how to break your nose, too."

"Such a vicious beauty," Aramis teased, before being dragged onto Porthos' lap at the next easel along.

"Stop buggin' 'er," Porthos ordered, offering Ninon an apologetic smile.

Aramis' smile was smug, safe in Porthos' arms. "You never used to strike to violence so quickly. Been a while, has it?"

Ninon raised an eyebrow and Porthos immediately nudged Aramis onto his feet. "You deserve this smack, love."

Aramis tried to crawl back onto Porthos, which went some way towards soothing Ninon's temper – and Porthos chuckling at Aramis' terror helped, too.

Ninon sighed and spared Aramis the beating he deserved to glance around the room, wondering why they were one short today, and why it had to be  _that_ one.

The truth was, it  _had_  been a while – not that she'd admit that to the permanently after-glowing Aramis – and her usual calm was starting to fray, or whittle down to a stub of graphite, at least.

It was through no lack of suitors, Ninon was only ever willingly alone of an evening, more that the suitors themselves were…  _lacking._

Time was where she would have called Athos and spent the night drinking stupidly expensive wine with him, but although he still would if she asked, he had other pursuits now.

Two of which were currently making some sort of bet and sneaking peeks at her.

Before she could throw something in their direction, their life-drawing model entered the room to a cacophonous response.

"Flea?" The name burst from her mouth, and Ninon vaguely noticed Porthos and Aramis shaking hands triumphantly.

Flea's smile was more a bearing of teeth as she shrugged, the robe falling around her arms slightly with the movement. "Nobody signed up this week, figured I might as well, right?"

Ninon nodded numbly, astonishment a staccato beat of her pulse. It wasn't a shock, really, and perhaps it was respect that made her offer Flea a lopsided smile, because she wasn't sure she could stand naked in a room of her peers.

Ninon was confident, she knew that, but she was confident in  _things_ , in the swish of her hair or the click of her heels. Flea was another matter entirely, Flea was confident in nothing, but about  _everything._

The robe dropped, and like a cat upon a rock, Flea reclined upon the chaise longue on the dais with nothing more than a wink when Porthos wolf-whistled.

Aramis elbowed him with a pout, and it made Ninon realise that she was the only one who hadn't started drawing. In a panic, she knocked the pencils off of her table, most of which she abandoned to peek over her easel.

Flea fidgeted until she was comfortable, and she really was, comfortable on the chair, comfortable in her skin, comfortable with the eyes upon her bare body.

The sheer amount of confidence was the fan to the flames that always sprang up at the sight of her, at the mischief in her eyes and the teeth in her smile.

Flea was no suitor, not unless suitors managed to charm the order of Ninon's life into a tantalising tumble, because no one else managed to catch Ninon off-guard so, managed to make her laugh at jokes she shouldn't, managed to invade her thoughts at the most inappropriate moments.

But that was Flea, gloriously inappropriate, shamelessly beautiful, and with enough wickedness in her winks to have Ninon casting off her high-heels to run barefoot through the grass at midnight and ignore her parents' summonses so that she could eat KFC with her fingers.

It had always been a group of them, but Flea helped Ninon remember what it was like to be a child again, letting her forget her responsibilities for a bit and play until the dawn broke.

The dawn had broken, it was midday, and responsibility was drawing the flowing figure that dominated her thoughts no matter what time it was.

Responsibility was a bitch, and so Ninon turned her eye to a pretty one, trying to draw as objectively as she usually did.

She had failed before she even started.

Flea was like a lioness, one of the rangy ones that lived on the plains, swift and deadly and sleek. A hunter if ever there was one, she was relaxed but ready, the suggestion of muscle in her arms, one bent leg taut with pale skin that broke into clusters of freckles along her slim calves.

Leaning on her elbows, Flea arched over the chair, her ribs pressed against her skin, a freckle under her left breast, another on the sharp line of her hip, but the dip of her abdomen was sweet – possibly the only soft thing about her.

For Flea, as everyone knew, was feral, and she was gorgeous, wielding animal magnetism in much the same was as Porthos did, strong and earthy and full of fire.

The blonde of her hair was tinted with red this week, shades of russet and amber in the sunlight, it frothed around her head like a mane, untameable and glorious. Colourful beads were scattered amongst the little plaits, order amongst chaos, and simply Flea.

Soon, finally,  _eventually_ , Ninon's fascination turned itself to work, her pencil sweeping over the paper as her eyes swept over Flea, returning again and again to the tangled tawny hair that draped over narrow shoulders.

The time was up before she knew it, people starting to pack up their things as Ninon stretched her cramping fingers and regarded her work, and the model.

Flea hopped deftly off of the dais, drawing her robe on with lazy slowness, and then she looked up to meet Ninon's gaze. "Can I see?"

Ninon started, her thumb smudging a mark in surprise at being caught. "Why mine?"

"You looked at me different to everyone else," Flea said with a shrug, and Ninon felt a little burst of indignation. Ninon had looked at Flea as if she was beautiful, so who hadn't?

Flea took a step closer, her smile cheeky, and suddenly Ninon was self-conscious. She wasn't a bad artist, far from it, even if Porthos was undoubtedly the star of their class.

"C'mon, please?"

It was a request, but there was a challenge in blue eyes darker than Ninon's own, and Ninon stepped up to the plate, as she always did when Flea dared her to.

There were a few beats of silence during which Ninon started to frown, finding all the flaws in her drawing. She had drawn Flea too tall, spent far too much time shaping the slight mound of her breasts and the freckles beneath them.

Flea's mouth opened slightly, something bewildered in her expression. "You gave me a mane?"

"Ah," Ninon murmured, seeing what the worst thing about it was. "Yes, well, you seem leonine, to me." Flea glanced at her, but there was a smile about the cupid's bow of her lips, so Ninon ventured, "Claws."

Flea snickered, her head tilting to the side as she observed herself, and then that considering gaze was on Ninon. "Fancy meetin' up later, just me an' you? You can tell me more 'bout this lion thing, 'cause I ain't gonna lie, I kinda like it."

Ninon blinked a few times, surprise warring with the desire to say yes immediately, but then a snide voice called out over the easels, "Buy a push-up bra, Flea, do yourself a favour."

Flea didn't even bat an eyelid as she tossed over her shoulder, "I saw you up here two months ago, Mike, I've shit bigger than your prick." Flea returned her attention to Ninon, her smile changing from hostile to hopeful immediately. "So, drink?"

Ninon knew her answer, her laugh a delighted thing. "Did you know that lions don't change prey even if something else becomes available?"

Flea's grin showed teeth. "You'd better say yes then, 'cause 'else I'll just keep chasin' you."

Ninon hummed at the floor. "Well, in that case…"

Something satisfied glimmered in those hunter's eyes when Ninon looked up through the hair that Aramis had pulled loose. "Didn't say I'd stop after."

"Then, yes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've always shipped these two from afar, without really thinking about it, and now I've written them and I love them. P'raps one from Flea's PoV soon, hm?  
> OH, also, the other reason this wasn't the usual crowd, was because I have an idea for a drawing-esque one later, and it's Porthathos! Surprise! Who could've guessed?! But that's not yet, so, Fleanon, thoughts?
> 
> Your comments are like the lead to my pencils, so please leave one! You can find us on Tumblr at [ComeHitherAshes](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com) and SirLancelotTheBrave. The tags used are ([#2k15 April Writing Challenge](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/2k15-April-Writing-Challenge)) and ([#A Musketeers' Bloom](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/A-Musketeers%27-Bloom)).


	11. Nudge Nudge, Wink Wink

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 11 - _rival superheroes who are trying to protect the same small city_
> 
> Honestly, I have no idea what this was meant to turn out as, this was a little **too** AU, for me, but I tried! This prompt was brought to you by [these idiots](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/post/116146464483/doctor-who-s1-e11-boom-town-that-old-ladys), and my betting habits at Aintree, today.
> 
>  **TAGS:** Eh, open your eyes wide and it's gen, otherwise it's OT3, reference in the title, I've worked in about ten ideas into 1500 words, this was so hard to write, also so few comments yesterday, was Fleanon not a favourite?

Athos was snapping his newspaper, flicking the pages with more vigour than the poor broadsheet could handle.

"Right, you're clearly pissed with me, what is it?"

"Nothing."

Porthos grit his jaw to stop from smiling. If he didn't think Athos would gut him, he'd grab the grouch-ball into a cuddle.

Maybe later.

"S'clearly not nothin'."

Athos snapped the paper again. "I'm simply dubious as to my bet on the National, today."

Porthos shook his head with a chuckle. "Liar, 'sides from the fact that you follow Scudamore so close it's almost creepy," that earned him a glare over today's headlines, "I can read you like a book."

"Then read the race card and bet on it," Athos muttered.

"Already 'ave a fiver on Many Clouds."

Athos folded a corner and peered over it. "Why that one, had a tip off about Aspell?"

"Nah, the name just reminded me of you," Porthos teased, and was met with a glimmer of a smile before being confronted with the day's top story.

It was a picture of their local police station, two men in handcuffs laid flat on the floor and a policeman shaking hands with a slender figure clothed in a dashing smile and skin-tight Lycra.

Porthos chewed on his cheek, gaze flicking between Athos' clenched fingers and that familiar smile. "He's makin' quite a name for 'imself."

The paper snapped shut, and those many-clouded eyes became storms. "On  _your_ work!"

Porthos leaned back into his chair, hiding the victorious smile he wanted to give at being right.

"When you told me you wanted to go gallivanting about the city, I had my doubts, but I supplied you, didn't I?"

"Yes, love," Porthos murmured, almost pinned by the ears at the lecturing tone to Athos' speech.

"You needed a bulletproof vest, I bought you one, you needed something non-lethal to take people down, I sourced you something – and I won't go into my opinions on your mercy streak."

"Thanks," Porthos said dryly.

"I can deal with the social fallout, your identity is safer than the Loch Ness Monster's, but this  _person,_ they're an unknown, Porthos."

"I know, sweet, but s'fine—"

Athos leaned forward, Porthos blinking in surprise when a hand cupped his jaw. The storms softened, sparks in their depths. "Your first headline still hangs in the study, do not make me…" Athos took a deep breath. "Do not make me see someone else in your place."

Porthos froze, reading the concern hidden deep beneath the practical words, the sentiment in the thumb that rubbed his cheek before it fell away and the paper shield returned.

Crumpled, but no worse for wear.

Much like Porthos.

They had termed him superhero in the beginning, but he was no more super-powered than the next guy, he simply had an axe to grind, justice to fulfil, and a very wealthy benefactor.

One who cared far more than he let on.

Porthos nudged Athos' leg with his own, smiling when Athos pushed closer instead of pulling away.

They stayed that way for an hour, Athos flicking slower through the paper, and Porthos mulling over the last year's events. It had been a surprise, the first time someone else had taken credit for his work, but a funny one.

Funnier still when he had later stumbled across a guy with wild curls standing over some would-be mugger with the words, "You can't run from justice!"

Porthos had stood back and watched, grinning wider at every cliché comment – and there were a lot – before he was finally spotted. "Reckon  _I_  could outrun justice."

That dashing smile he'd seen in the papers only that morning. "Yes, but would you want to?"

"Innuendo, seriously?"

"In  _your_ end-o," was the pithy response, and Porthos rolled his eyes.

"Wow, now I know how it feels when I do that, so annoyin'."

Porthos had told Athos about it, about the friendly charm and that smile, but they had both agreed that it was safer to keep to themselves.

That smile had other ideas though, and lately, so had Porthos.

With the memory of Athos' fingers on his jaw, Porthos heard a hiss in the shadows of an alleyway, and he half-turned before catching a glimpse of powder-blue in the darkness. "Wondered when you'd show up. D'you think it's time we swap names, s'getting' silly—" He frowned when his shadow stepped into the light, clutching an arm that glittered red. "You alright?"

"Caught myself on a door, if you can believe it," said that same melodious voice from so many nights – quite literally – on the town. Familiar eyes through a cats-eye mask laughed at him. "It's Aramis."

Porthos' brows rose. "Just like that?"

"You never asked."

Porthos' laugh came unbidden and he inclined his head. "Fair enough, wish I 'ad, now. Porthos."

Aramis smiled, wincing slightly as he nodded at his Kevlar. "How do you afford those?"

"Ah, he calls himself my wealthy benefactor."

Aramis snorted. "What's his name, R'as al Ghul?"

Porthos chuckled softly, his voice fond. "Honestly, he's more Batman than I am."

"Where is he then?"

"At home, waitin' for me."

Surprise flittered across Aramis' face, and then swiftly on the heels of that was a sense of longing. "Sounds nice."

Immediately, Porthos'  _mercy streak_ went out to him, to the lithe figure he had joked with, the one he missed when it didn't appear, and so he lied. "Yeah, 'specially when you consider that I'm under instructions to bring you 'ome with me."

Aramis' eyes widened, and Porthos wondered whether Athos would finally do what crime-fighting hadn't, and kill him. "What, why?"

"You've been takin' my spots on the paper."

"You never did any interviews anyway!"

"S'not the point." Porthos shrugged, and when Aramis stuck out his lip in a pout that shouldn't have looked so cute on a grown man in Lycra, Porthos added, "You gotta get that cut seen to, anyway, or I'll dump you in a hospital."

"You wouldn't dare."

"Try me." Porthos grinned slowly, and Aramis muttered a promise of revenge. "You're really playin' up to this hero card, eh?"

Mischief sparkled behind the petulance, and they spent the journey back exchanging stories – Aramis having made considerable more use of his hero status than Porthos.

"An' she  _believed_ you?"

"It's not like anyone would know," Aramis replied with a smug smirk as they walked into the modest two-storey house that served as his cover. "As far as she knows, I saved that painting and it's hanging in my flat…" Aramis trailed off as they walked through a second set of doors and into the main house proper.

Porthos watched Aramis' mouth drop when he saw said painting in question on the wall, and simply shepherded him into the study, the fire crackling in the hearth, a bottle of red warming at its edges.

"Found 'im," Porthos announced,

"Good," came a voice from the armchair, "I hate to say I was worrying but—"

Porthos cleared his throat, and Athos' shaggy head appeared before he jumped up and Porthos had to hold out a hand to ward off the oncoming storm. "Easy."

"You brought him  _home?_ "

Aramis had been edging behind Porthos, but at this exclaimed affrontedly, "You said he told you to!"

"He's bleedin', sweet."

Athos narrowed his eyes at the imploring tone and pet name both, but he deigned to look Aramis over. It didn't help when Aramis couldn't take his eyes off of Athos, whether in a survival instinct to keep his throat intact, or because, well, Athos was hot and ruffled and pissed off in the best possible way.

"I see that, and over my carpet, no less," Athos finally said, and for all Aramis' voice was guilty, he still didn't look away.

"Sorry."

Porthos hid his grin when Athos turned suspicious – he never could tell when someone liked him, it was why it had taken three years, five balloons, and a personally decorated cake to let him know.

Athos still had one of the balloons in the cupboard beneath that very first article.

Apparently the attention was too much for Athos, because he sighed and turned for the fire where one of their many first aid boxes was kept. "Come on then."

Aramis peeked unsurely at Porthos, and encouraged by the wide grin he saw, skipped happily over to Athos' chair and sat prettily at his feet.

It was Athos who peeked unsurely at him that time, and Porthos' chuckle brought that amused flash of lighting to the storms he loved so much.

Porthos leaned against the chair, watching Athos pass Aramis his glass of wine before he threaded the needle. It was a comfortable silence, content and safe, and Athos' murmur merely confirmed it.

"It seems that you need a wealthy benefactor."

When Porthos laughed, Aramis looked up to see the curve of Athos' lips, and his smile was the dashing one he gave the press. "I'm keeping the Lycra."

Athos and Porthos muttered at the same time, "Like Hell you are."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why have I never thought about Aramis at the foot of Athos' favourite chair? (Damn you, Scrabble, this is all your fault, get the Pup out of here.) Athos' hand in Aramis' curls as he looks up adoringly, _a la_ one of my all-time favourite pairings, the Duke of Avon and Leonie.
> 
> Your comments are like the ~~capes~~ secret identities to my everyday heroes, so please leave one! You can find us on Tumblr at [ComeHitherAshes](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com) and SirLancelotTheBrave. The tags used are ([#2k15 April Writing Challenge](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/2k15-April-Writing-Challenge)) and ([#A Musketeers' Bloom](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/A-Musketeers%27-Bloom)).


	12. Callous Beauty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 12 - _Person A who sits in the back of every staff meeting and makes snarky comments under their breath about everyone the whole time and person B who arrived late and sat next to them and can barely hold in their laughter._
> 
> Because _kallos_ sounds like callous and Athos is an ice-capped mountain, cold and beautiful.
> 
>  **TAGS:** Athamis, casual mention of all my ships, welcome to the fleet, calligraphy, numerous references, go wild, you know I love it when you guess!

Aramis was late. Normally this wouldn't be such a terrible ordeal – he was used to talking his way out of pretty much anything – but this was his first staff meeting after the branch merger.

"Great first impression, Aramis," he muttered under his breath, hesitating when he lost his way before spying the one person he knew. " _¡Fiu!_  Porthos, you're late too."

Porthos grinned, leaning against an empty desk with a warning tut. "Nah, not in today, but wish I was,  _love_ the suit."

Aramis glanced down at himself quickly, wishing he didn't blush every time Porthos spoke to him, but pleased he was wearing his favourite waistcoat of powder-blue – which, coincidentally, was the company's colour. "Thank you," he managed, and then lost the battle against utter misery. "I'm lost."

Porthos chuckled, "Don't worry 'bout it, the Monday's borin' as fuck. They're in the Fishbowl, down the left." Aramis gabbled his thanks, and then heard an amused, "Sit next to the only person who won't look up when you walk in."

Aramis frowned at that strange statement, but when he nearly crashed into the clear-glass walls of the meeting room, he was happy for the direction.

Porthos had been right, only one head didn't lift, and it was a slightly shaggy one by the door, as if he was permanently poised to escape when it ended.

There was a chair just behind him, and as Richelieu let Aramis off with a nod and called the room to order again, he slipped into it as quietly as possible.

His breathing sounded loud in his own ears, but nobody paid him any mind – most of them were staring off into the distance or diligently taking notes.

"Athos, why is there a discrepancy in their accounts as of 2012?"

Aramis froze when Richelieu had all eyes turning their way, and he felt a burst of sympathy for the man who evidently hadn't been paying attention.

But Athos, without lifting his head, replied very nonchalantly, "It was a leap year, and I wouldn't call a profit a discrepancy."

The room held its breath as their new boss eyed Athos like he was a particularly irritating bug, but Athos didn't even deign him with his attention and simply continued his note-taking.

When the conversation continued – and Aramis felt as tense as a board – he wondered whether coming here had been a good idea. Maybe he should have taken the severance package, returned to Spain, life would be easier without the stress of mixing with the new staff.

Apart from Porthos, no one else seemed very keen on having fun, and at his old place they would have office Olympics in the halls whenever Richelieu wasn't around.

Aramis suddenly noticed the smooth motion of Athos' writing, which was when he realised it wasn't writing at all.

It was calligraphy, beautiful, flowing letters like leaves on a light breeze.

They spelled out swear words.

Aramis snorted and shuffled closer, careful to keep behind Athos' back lest he turn that sharp tongue on him. French curses dotted the paper, all in that same mesmerising handwriting, and with it was a soft voice that seemed laden in buckets of antipathy.

Aramis couldn't hear over the sound of Richelieu calling someone to task, but he afterwards he heard Athos murmur, "Yes, d'Artagnan, if you could take your eyes off of Constance for but a moment."

Aramis looked up, spotting a young man with pink cheeks, and a woman swiftly close a colourful book hidden amongst her papers.

At that, Athos added, "Constance, your upcoming nuptials aside, we need to continue with this rather tawdry affair."

Aramis narrowed his eyes and smiled, he had heard of those two through Porthos, their budding romance had apparently enveloped the office in hand-written invitations to their wedding.

He wondered whether they had asked Athos to write any.

If they had, he was going to warn them to proof-read thoroughly.

Aramis heard a familiar voice across the room, and saw Ninon sat next to a woman he didn't recognise – but judging from their giggling, they knew each other quite well.

"And lo, the world relaxed when glass tables became the norm in offices," Athos muttered, shaping another swear with deft fingers, "not that it stopped Flea entirely from trying her luck."

Aramis snickered as quietly as he could. So  _that_ was why Ninon had been so keen to accept the transfer all those months ago – Aramis wasn't going to lie, he didn't blame her, he had spent the entirety of his first week totting up eye-candy.

The door opened then, a harried man that Aramis recognised as Treville, Richelieu's opposite number, who exchanged a few biting remarks about lateness and arriving precisely when they meant to.

Aramis looked expectantly at the back of Athos' head.

"Ah, Treville, tired of baiting Richelieu by parking in his spot, today, did we? Ever so good of you."

"I hear they're dating, actually," Aramis whispered conspiratorially.

Athos flinched, the gaze that whipped around to meet Aramis' was at once surprised and vengeful. As if Athos recognised him, he relaxed, one eyebrow curving as smoothly as his letters. "If only that were the breadth of it, they're married."

Aramis had to stifle his shocked laugh when he realised their bickering was indicative of exactly that of an old married couple. Athos' lips curved slightly, as if pleased he made Aramis laugh, and then he returned to his notes.

Aramis leaned a little closer. "If you've run out of French, I can give you some Spanish?"

"I was going for Latin next but why not make use of your polyglotism, hm?"

Aramis had raised his brows at the mention of Latin, but at that he frowned. "How did you know?"

Athos glanced at him in amusement. "I approved your transfer, as, I should point out, did Porthos."

Aramis ducked his head to hide his delighted smile, and spelled out slowly, _"Bebida?"_

Athos answered by putting an 's' instead of a question mark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hang, draw, and quarter me, I'm think I'm losing my touch with these prompts - also I've apparently forgotten every bit of Spanish that I once knew. It's just gone. Why didn't they teach informal pick-up lines when I was at school, hm? 
> 
> Your comments are like the ink to my calligraphy pen, so please leave one! You can find us on Tumblr at [ComeHitherAshes](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com) and SirLancelotTheBrave. The tags used are ([#2k15 April Writing Challenge](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/2k15-April-Writing-Challenge)) and ([#A Musketeers' Bloom](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/A-Musketeers%27-Bloom)).


	13. Frickin' Hearts with Frickin' Laser Beams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 13 - _laser tag au_
> 
> I used to own at these bad boys, and on one school trip, the vests were named and I immediately went for FLASH. Cue 15 year old me popping around corners yelling, "AH-AHHHHH". (No, of course I don't treat laser tag as srs bsns, how dare you.)
> 
>  **TAGS:** OT3, blowjobs, yeah you read right, I chose Queen over DC (oh was that not why you got excited?), Gordon pre-dates the Speedster, by six whole years, get off my lawn you kids.

"Will you quit complainin'? It's the Pup's birthday an' he chose laser tag."

"Laser tag is for children."

"Athos,  _mon cher_ , we were here, like, last month."

"Fuckin' deal with it."

Athos stormed off when d'Artagnan arrived, who glanced after him worriedly. "Again?"

"Nah, 'e'll be fine once he's inside."

"He's oddly competitive for someone who insists this is for children."

"Athos is the most competitive person I know," Porthos remarked. Aramis and d'Artagnan both raised an eyebrow at him, and he laughed sheepishly. "Well, 'part from me."

D'Artagnan ran inside after Athos, already making little laser noises under his breath when Aramis stepped in front of him with a nudge at his jaw.

"Go easy on him, hm? It didn't help when you won the bet to drive."

"The rules were clear, sweet, he who cuts highest in the deck gets to drive," Porthos announced victoriously, and Aramis checked that no one was looking before sliding his hand down Porthos' waistband. "Alright, easy, love—"

Aramis pulled out a king of hearts and offered Porthos a dubious look. "You were saying?"

"D'you want 'im to murder me? Put that back where it came from," Porthos muttered quietly, and then pretended to unbutton his jeans. " _Right_ where it came from."

"Insatiable," Aramis murmured, his smile making Porthos want to kiss him, want to hide the card in Aramis' back pocket so he could magic it out later.

So he did; let Athos wait, the grumpy bastard.

By the time they wandered inside, Athos was leaning against the counter with his arms crossed over the laser tag gear, his sharp gaze taking in their ruffled state. "I signed you in already."

"Oh, thanks," Porthos said with some guilty surprise, and then he noticed d'Artagnan snickering as he tossed their vests over. "What the fuck did you put our names as?"

Athos, as neutral as ever, mimed a pump-action rifle – which looked a lot like the gesture for something else entirely – and disappeared into the darkness, his name popping up on the overhead screen as he loaded his gun.

_Meilleur._

"It could have been worse." Aramis shrugged, and smiled when his came up.

_Mieux._

Warily, Porthos waved his own over the charger, and snarled when the screen lit once more.

_Bête._

Aramis clapped a hand over his mouth and laughed, "Best, better, and beast."

At  _Chiot,_ d'Artagnan rolled his eyes before he ran off, muttering, "Very fucking original."

Almost immediately, the scores updated to a point towards Athos – and one against d'Artagnan. Porthos grit his jaw. "Right, that's it, he's goin' down."

Aramis stepped into his arms, palm soothing over his heart. "I hate to say it,  _mon cher_ , but Athos is king at this."

"Yeah, but normally we play free-for-all." Porthos let his smile show all his teeth. "Now we're gonna play teams."

Aramis' sighed dubiously, but then both their vests went off at a shot from the shadows, and Athos' score went up by two. Aramis' fingers curved into claws, little points of pressure against his skin. "It  _is_  awfully dark in there."

They muttered battle-plans before parting ways. They knew what to do, hunting Athos was difficult, but it was always fun.

By the time Porthos found him, five minutes had passed. Athos was poised against a door frame, his silhouette so perfect that Porthos almost itched to draw it if he hadn't had vengeance on the mind.

Still, Porthos' predatory smile did soften a little when Aramis tumbled out of nowhere and squeaked at the sight of Athos, who paused just before he clicked the trigger.

Aramis blew him a grateful kiss and Athos twitched his gun in the opposite direction, shooing Aramis to safety, his smile almost lost in the shadows.

It was one of Porthos' favourite smiles, but it wasn't going to save him.

Porthos pounced, one arm locked over Athos' chest and the other pointing his gun at Athos' back, he dropped his head to mouth at an earlobe. "Gotcha."

Athos stiffened but he didn't struggle, knowing it was what Porthos wanted, instead he said in a pissed off mutter, "Now is hardly the time, Porthos."

Porthos tutted and pulled the trigger, Athos' vest lighting in a killing blow as he growled, "Did I say you could talk?"

Athos inhaled sharply, his body taking on a different sort of awareness, the pulse against Porthos' teeth skipping its regular pattern even when its owner must have wished that it wouldn't.

Porthos hummed in satisfaction. "That's better."

"Porthos—" Athos bit off with a hiss when Porthos shot him again, the two aspects of his pride at war with each other.

Either lose the laser tag game, or lose the dominance war.

When Athos stayed silent for a good ten seconds, Porthos dragged him backwards, keeping him off-balance so his heels couldn't quite drag on the floor.

Hidden in one of the set pieces, Porthos sat down on a barrel, pulling Athos flush against him with the gun still prodding his spine.

Athos was a simmering ball of fury, but no one else would have noticed it, it was only because Porthos was licking up Athos' neck that he felt the trembles, and didn't stop when Aramis swept in.

"Don't you two look a treat," Aramis whispered, and immediately slipped onto Athos' lap to kiss him, laughing when Athos murmured his name and Porthos shot him. "This is a much better game. What're the rules?"

"Anythin' you want, sweet – might wanna make it quick though, or the birthday boy will wonder where we've got to."

Athos' eyes widened, anxiety in their depths, and Aramis' laugh was surprisingly wicked for someone who looked as if he had fallen from Heaven. "Wouldn't want the Pup seeing you all trussed up for my amusement now, would we?"

Athos' mouth opened, but then he glanced at Porthos and shut it again.

"Good boy."

A snarl.

A shot.

Aramis' laughter was muffled against Athos' neck, rising upwards on Athos' thighs to coax Porthos forward into a kiss – and to coax Athos into struggling angrily.

"Don't be jealous,  _mon cher_ , your turn will come – probably sooner than you'd like," Aramis purred, his tongue darting over his lip before he lowered to his knees.

" _Putain de merde_ ," whispered from Athos' mouth, and their shadowed enclosure lit up in a red glow when Porthos shot him.

"Don't listen to 'im, sweet," Porthos encouraged, his grin a mile-wide when Aramis peeked up from between their legs.

With long practice, Aramis' slender fingers worked buttons through denim and flesh through fabric, until Athos was shaking and Porthos wasn't far off, himself.

Aramis paused, tease that he was, his breath ghosting over Athos' cock until Athos keened low in his throat, and Aramis' soft laugh sounded when Porthos clicked the trigger again.

Porthos had looked at the glow, his vision blurred, but suddenly Athos twitched and Porthos was blinking onto the sight of Aramis taking Athos into his mouth, his smile a sly thing when Porthos and Athos groaned in time.

Aramis pulled back for a second and cleared his throat with a raised brow.

"Oh, right," Porthos chuckled, and Athos' vest lit up once more.

Aramis hummed as he licked along Athos' length, and Porthos could feel the tiny muscles in Athos' legs quivering with every suck that Aramis deigned to give him.

Power in those slender hands was a dangerous, heady thing.

Under the sway of Aramis' heavy-lidded command, Porthos bit when told to, Athos' earlobe between his teeth as Aramis swallowed him fully, and Athos came in a stuttering gasp that had his heels drumming against the floor.

That was basically making noise, right?

"We gotta do this again," Porthos panted, and Athos had just enough strength left to glare over his shoulder.

Porthos shot him again, just for the Hell of it.

Athos was so dazed by the time they let him go, d'Artagnan was running rings around him, and the kid didn't once think it was strange that Athos wasn't furious, that his normally shrewd eyes were slightly glazed over.

They sharpened only when the finish rang and d'Artagnan proudly held their score card aloft. "Best birthday present ever, I might frame it."

"The spoils of war are easily disposed of," Athos said somewhat poignantly, and didn't complain once on the way home – not even at d'Artagnan's incessant victory chants.

It was only after a suspiciously quiet afternoon that Porthos curiously Googled the line and realised it was a threat.

"Athos?" Porthos called out warningly, every dark corner seeming dangerous all of a sudden.

Aramis appeared from another room, smiling innocently at him, and when Porthos spun round in anticipation, Athos collided with his chest and bore him to the floor with a sibilant, "Excellent work, Aramis. Would you pass me the ties?"

Porthos let his head thunk on the floor and grinned at the two smirks aimed his way.

He'd won the battle, not the war, but he felt rather spoiled just the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poem Athos quotes is "Spoils" by Robert Graves, if you're interested! Apologies for the late upload, just found some arsewipe hosting my fics on an ebook website (ebooks-tree) - keep an eye out for your own works, _mes chers_!
> 
> Your comments are like the combat rolls to my very intense games of laser tag, so please leave one! You can find us on Tumblr at [ComeHitherAshes](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com) and SirLancelotTheBrave. The tags used are ([#2k15 April Writing Challenge](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/2k15-April-Writing-Challenge)) and ([#A Musketeers' Bloom](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/A-Musketeers%27-Bloom)).


	14. No Spring Nor Summer Beauty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 14 - _'so YOU'RE the douchebag who keeps mowing their lawn while i'm trying to sleep'_
> 
> “No spring nor summer beauty hath such grace as I have seen in one autumnal face." - John Donne.
> 
>  **TAGS:** Porthathos, Athamis, if it's not animals then it's seasons, Greek/Roman pantheons, nobody tell Athos I likened him to Pomona, Formula 1, because that's what Sundays are about.

Sunlight, Athos decided, was akin to torture.

It was laughing at him, laughing in little golden beams that shifted painfully across his eyelids.

How much money would buy a decent black-out blind in his bedroom? At this rate he was just going to take it all out in cash and use it as landfill between himself and the window.

Surely then he might sleep in peace.

Hiding under his pillow worked for a time, but then the most onerous buzzing sound started to worm its way through the feathers, as if personally seeking him out in some sort of vendetta.

Athos' eyes snapped open.

It  _could_  be a vendetta.

A month he had been forced to listen to some lunatic up at God-knows-what hours of a Sunday morning, and only last week had d'Artagnan drawn up some sort of flyer that portrayed him as a count that disapproved of his villagers' activities.

It wasn't far wrong.

That slanderous piece of paper had gone through every letterbox, so whoever was wielding a chorus of chainsaws was doing it deliberately.

Athos hissed when a light breeze blew at the blind and sent more sunlight trampling in like some sort of sun-blessed herd of horses, kicking and braying with impunity.

Launching from bed to slam the window shut was not as peace-restoring as he had hoped – he could still hear that buzzing noise, as if bees were swarming somewhere nearby.

"It's the day of  _rest_ , Athos," Aramis whined from somewhere within the blankets.

"And soon it will be,  _mon paon_." Athos returned to smooth a hand over Aramis' forehead – which was promptly nuzzled into.

One interested eye flicked open.

"Are you going to war,  _mon cher_?"

Athos tried to restrain his smile. "If that's what it takes."

Aramis gave a hearty sigh, linking Athos' fingers with his own. "I  _suppose_ I could rouse myself…"

Athos gave a fond tut, a laugh somewhere in its depths. "I shan't need my adoring crowd today."

Aramis drew their hands up and nipped at Athos' wrist, chiding sleepily, "I always adore you."

Athos' smile bounded to his lips, and he pressed them to Aramis' fingertips before tweaking his nose and bidding him to sleep some more.

Going through three pairs of jeans not his own before he found a pair that wouldn't cripple him, he trotted downstairs.

With a scowl that resembled that of a gorgon's, Athos set off down the street and shielded his eyes from the unholy glare over the horizon.

It was there, toiling in the sun's rays that Athos beheld his tormentor.

And continued to behold him as his stride slowed a little.

A bare, broad back met his eye, taut with muscle and slick with sweat, each movement sending strong shoulders rolling.

Damn him for looking like a Greek Vertumnus, one who called forth the grass with a gentle, roughened palm, and a smile that changed the seasons.

Athos came back to himself with a shake – who  _smiled_ at the gardening?

Loud gardening, at that, and with a lawnmower wrongfully this side of Hell.

Athos stopped short of the man's lawn, his toes brushing grass, and crossed his arms over his chest as he waited for the Greek god to begin his path back up.

That smile stopped in autumn, warm and welcoming, and it took him in with one sweeping gaze that lingered on jeans that Athos' protesting thighs were starting to tell him belonged to Aramis.

"Hey—"

"Is there a reason you're deafening the neighbourhood this early?"

The smile turned into autumnal brisk winds. "It's 10am, mate."

"Your ability to tell the time is truly fascinating—"

A calloused hand left the mower's handle. "Before you call me  _peasant,_ s'Porthos, alright, Count of the Close?"

Athos wasn't sure when someone had last interrupted him – and Aramis' little diversions didn't count, even if this did feel as charged with that same tension.

"Athos, if you must know, de la Fère," he added as an after-thought, and as he suspected, Porthos' smile changed again.

This one was bountiful, the promise of prosperity.

"There, see, that wasn't so hard, was it?"

Athos raised an eyebrow, and Porthos' chuckle said that he knew he was dancing on dangerous ground – and rather liked it.

Athos cleared his throat, trying not to enjoy the way Porthos leaned over the mower, his chest a delectation that was far too sweet this early in the morning. "If you could keep it down."

It wasn't phrased as a question, but before Athos could turn on his heel, Porthos called, "Which house should I stuff that flyer then, eh?"

"If you value your life, peasant—" Athos trailed off with a wicked smile at Porthos' huff of indignation, "Porthos, you won't, but it's number five."

Porthos frowned in consideration. "Aramis' house?"

Athos scowled – it wasn't the first time that Aramis had fraternised with the enemy, especially one as handsome as this. "How do you know Aramis?"

The grin that dawned across Porthos' was face was filthy, like leaf litter on a strewn street – yet somehow less frustrating. "Caught 'im buyin' condoms at the corner-shop, said 'is boyfriend was a right eager thing."

Athos cleared his throat, torn between embarrassment and amusement, and would have bitten out a retort had it not felt as if he were rejecting something he shouldn't. "I would call it  _enthusiasm,_ myself."

Porthos' smile settled into a happy harvest. "D'you get  _enthusiastic_ for the Formula 1, Count?"

"As it happens, yes, and…" Athos checked his watch and gambled, "it's starting. Care to join us? Aramis has a crush on Jensen Button."

For some reason, Porthos looked at him anew and chuckled, "Can't think why, 'e's a scruffy little shit. Cute smile, though; an' sure, thanks."

Aramis' slow clap had Athos trying to hide his smile, but then Aramis drawled, "Artfully done,  _mon cher_  – I presume your goal  _was_  to make friends and entice him into the house?"

"Of course," Athos murmured, and smirked when Porthos winked at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's all daydream for a bit about living near these boys, Aramis sunning on the lounger, Porthos mowing the lawn, Athos taunting him from the shade, the three of them in not much at all... Ahem.
> 
> Your comments are like the bees to my flowers, so please leave one! You can find us on Tumblr at [ComeHitherAshes](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com) and SirLancelotTheBrave. The tags used are ([#2k15 April Writing Challenge](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/2k15-April-Writing-Challenge)) and ([#A Musketeers' Bloom](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/A-Musketeers%27-Bloom)).


	15. At the Copa, Copacabana

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 15 - _'Dude I know we don't know each other but my swim trunks came off when I jumped in the water can you grab them for me?'_
> 
> Why don't we all agree that the first thing we do when we see chapter specific tags is look for any mentions of smut, 'cause we all do it, right? Well, I have good news for you. Honestly, I couldn't write him in Speedos, but he could pull 'em off (as could they, ah-thank-you).
> 
>  **TAGS:** Was meant to be Portamis, turned into OT3, because I can't deny the Porthathos-loving members of my wolf pack, smit, I mean smut, I mean fire!

Getting Athos to agree to anything was like pulling teeth, and the only way to approach it was over a glass of wine or over his stomach. Porthos had done both, in this case, and it was only when Porthos had dragged his tongue through red wine over stained, pale skin that a breathless Athos had said yes.

He had drawn out the big guns, but they hadn't been on holiday in years, and the sun, the surf, and the hotel pool bar was definitely worth the claw marks he had earned the following night.

They had faded now, which was probably a good thing, because Porthos was in the pool and scoping out the curly-haired little god they had taken bets on.

Days alive, he was swimming over, Athos  _so_ owed him.

"Hey, er, my name's Aramis, could you help me?"

Porthos frowned, protectiveness sweeping through him when he noticed the slightly nervous way those sun-blown eyes were peering about. "Sure, I'm Porthos, what's up?"

"I, well, I jumped into the pool—"

"I saw, great splash."

That glittering smile they had first noticed a few days ago appeared, and then it trailed away into an awkwardly muttered, "May have lost my shorts."

Porthos blinked, and it took every ounce of his will not to see for himself. "Okay."

"Can you help me find them, please?" Even if Porthos hadn't already been planning on helping, he would have moved mountains to ease the depth of supplication in that outrageously gorgeous face.

He was still going to call in on Athos' bet, Aramis  _had_  technically approached him first.

Suddenly, Porthos frowned. "Uh, they wouldn't be hot pink, would they?"

"Yes, that's them!"

Porthos nodded over Aramis' shoulder where a mass of pink fabric was currently choking the pool's filter. At this, Aramis let out a mournful wail and turned tail, forcing the decision upon Porthos as to whether he let his gaze drift downwards.

He didn't. Someone should give him a medal for valour, they really should.

Or maybe half of one, but there was something about that bare stretch of sinuous back that put him into rather animated thoughts of another one.

A shadow fell upon the water, and from behind him, he heard an amused murmur, "Made a friend?"

"He's lost 'is trunks."

Athos' lips quirked into a smirk. "You  _do_ move fast."

Porthos aimed a triumphant look upwards at an outline limned in sunlight. "You'd know, eh?"

Athos huffed a soft laugh, careful to stay in the way of the sun so it wasn't blinding. "You're fortunate that I have no plans to join you in there."

"Oh, what? C'mon."

"No."

Porthos recognised that tone of voice and lowered his own accordingly, bracing his arms on the pool's edge so that the water ran down his skin. "Think of the fun we could 'ave."

Athos' gaze roved appreciatively. "You've already caused quite a stir; let's not add public indecency to our own list." Athos paused and then added, "Again."

Porthos chuckled, thoughts drifting to more illegal times. "Y'know I love it when you pretend you're all prim an' proper?"

Athos sniffed disdainfully, managing to look like a prince even in a relaxed – but no less expensive – shirt by the poolside. "There's no pretend about it,  _you're_ the savage."

"An' I'm corruptin' you, s'that it?" Porthos asked, grinning hedonistically, and when Athos' mouth curved, Porthos hummed deep in his throat. "An' I'm gonna enjoy corruptin' every inch of you."

Athos' smile grew wicked, the dark prince in Porthos' fairy-tale. "You're doing excellently."

Across the pool, someone had realised what Aramis was doing, and therefore what, exactly, he wasn't wearing. "Athos, sweet, you couldn't lend 'im a pair of yours, could you?"

Athos rolled his eyes but disappeared, nudging Porthos in the back with his foot when his attention was distracted by the fact that Aramis kept nearly rising above the water as he tried to yank at the sodden fabric.

Maybe the medal was out.

"Never thought I'd see the day, putting clothes  _on_ , well."

"Yeah, you're really fuckin' funny," Porthos said, reaching for Athos' offered shorts, "I'll 'ave to make up for it by forcibly removin' yours, eh?"

"You're welcome to try," was the quiet challenge that had Porthos grinning as he swam over to Aramis, who was still scrabbling ineffectually.

"Here, these should fit."

Aramis whirled in a splash of sunlight and tanned flesh, and once again Porthos had to force himself not to follow that trail of gleaming dark hair downwards. "You're a lifesaver!"

Porthos supposed that made him the hero of this fairy tale.

"Couldn't 'ave you wanderin' around in the nip, could I?"

Aramis snickered, getting dressed unfortunately quickly. "I don't know, you might have liked it."

Porthos met that charming smile with one of his own. "I ain't denyin' that."

"I haven't said thank you, where did you get these?"

"Boyfriend's about your size." Porthos noticed the slight shift of Aramis' shoulders, and added conspiratorially, "I think 'e was jealous."

That sly curve returned to Aramis' mouth. "Because you were helping a damsel in distress?"

Porthos almost laughed at that description, and immediately jumped to the conclusion that the hero was going to have to fight the dark prince over this one.

Fairy tales, though, had happy endings, and their fights always did.

"Nah, because  _he_  wanted to be the hero, he's a sucker for a cute pout like yours." At that, Porthos didn't turn away but raised his voice to call to the figure watching them from under the umbrella's shade, "Ain't you, Athos?"

Athos strolled over, all perfectly controlled, pale beauty, and Porthos grinned when Aramis looked him up and down and kept looking.

Athos might have preened if he hadn't known that grin. "Porthos, don't you dare—"

It was work of a second to launch himself out of the water on one arm and grab for Athos' hand with the other. Anyone else might have sprawled forwards, but Athos managed to fall with what could only be called contained fury.

Aramis was halfway through a shocked laugh when Athos exploded from the water and lunged for Porthos, one leg hooking around Porthos' as Athos' palm shoved at his chest to send him toppling backwards.

" _Tu putain crétin_ , you are lucky I took my shirt off," Athos growled, and Porthos had to stop chuckling in case he inhaled a lungful of water as he was sent under.

"C'mon, love, don't be like that," he teased, to Aramis' stifled snicker, and was consequently blowing bubbles again.

Above the water, Athos held him there with one hand clamped tight in his curls, and aimed a dry smile Aramis' way. "Cannot get the staff these days."

Aramis laughed again, looking away and back before saying, "He'll drown."

"He's trying to impress you with how long he can hold his breath," Athos replied wryly, and smirked when Aramis raised an intrigued eyebrow. "Quite the performer, isn't he?"

Porthos snaked a hand up Athos' thigh and palmed him through his trunks, and judging from the nails in his scalp and the twitch of heated length against his hand, Athos was both pissed  _and_ interested.

Porthos surfaced with a knowing grin, wondering if only he could see Athos' faint flush. There was a heated smile lurking about Aramis' face and Porthos supposed that Athos had just sworn very beautifully in French.

Athos scowled at him. "Cheat."

"What did he do?"

"Something no gentleman should do."

Porthos snorted, "Never said I was a gentleman, love, that's your bag not mine."

Athos showed him a very sly smile that had Porthos' own interest twitching. "Yes, well, in that case, perhaps I had better ask Aramis to accompany me to dinner, instead?"

Porthos played a very good affront. "Now, hang on a minute—"

"I suppose technically  _you_  were my saviour," Aramis said thoughtfully, his smile widening when Porthos spluttered – and then did so literally when Athos dunked him again.

Athos sighed airily, his fingers unobtrusively slipping to stroke Porthos' jaw and tease his thumb over Porthos' smile. "I can't take him anywhere; he's so difficult to manage."

Aramis nibbled his lip, his tongue appearing between his teeth for a moment before he asked cheekily, "Need a hand with him?"

"I thought you'd never ask," Athos murmured to Aramis' pleased laugh, and then yelped when Porthos' smiling lips pressed against his stomach and warm palms caressed his thighs to hold him close. Through gritted teeth he managed, "As I said, can't take him anywhere."

Aramis winked, gleaming in the sunshine and looking every bit like an artfully prepared dessert that Athos wanted to sink his teeth into. "Apparently Porthos doesn't feel the same way."

Athos' laugh was a breathless thing as a hot tongue plunged his navel and he was being watched by hungry, heavy-lidded eyes. "I didn't say the same about you."

Aramis swam closer, his grin spiking when two separate hands each found a hip. "I should hope not."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't give you angsty chapters in my longfics right now, but I CAN give you the boys flirting outrageously and getting all wet. I think this is a fair trade for now, no? In case you couldn't tell, this chapter was brought to you by Barry Manilow's "Copacabana", and now I want to write showgirl!Aramis and bartender!Porthos - but I already have that AU for Porthos somewhere in my files...
> 
> Your comments are like the Jaws theme to my swimming excursions, so please leave one! You can find us on Tumblr at [ComeHitherAshes](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com) and SirLancelotTheBrave. The tags used are ([#2k15 April Writing Challenge](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/2k15-April-Writing-Challenge)) and ([#A Musketeers' Bloom](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/A-Musketeers%27-Bloom)).


	16. On Your Bike

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 16 - _Person A has never learned how to ride a bike, so Person B offers to teach them. It’s not a pretty experience._
> 
> This was meant to be Aramis insisting that Athos learn and Athos really not wanting to, but then Athos surprised me.
> 
>  **TAGS:** Athamis, warning: gore, lol no I'm kidding, tis but a flesh wound, did you know that this title is apparently British slang? I thought everyone used it, "a polite way to say go away", well, that's putting it very politely indeed.

"Excuse me?"

Athos scowled at him, somehow managing to look thoroughly unimpressed even with one hand thrust up Aramis' shirt, the other braced on the bed as he leaned over the stunned length of him. "Don't make me repeat it."

Deft fingertips pressed insistently, a warning, and Aramis stammered, "No, it's just… Really?"

Athos sighed, lowering himself until it ghosted in the open collar of Aramis' shirt. "Yes, really. Is that such a surprise?"

"Coming from you, yes," Aramis murmured, but lifted his chin to let Athos suck a mark hard enough to have a little noise drawn from Aramis' throat.

"Because I know everything?" Athos asked, his smile a wicked but indulgent thing.

Aramis arched, his arms reaching up around Athos' neck, giving him what he wanted, because Athos always rewarded him for it – although the punishments were fun, too. "Yes."

Athos' laugh whispered over Aramis' mouth, their lips parting instinctively, and after a few lazy, lingering kisses, Aramis asked tentatively, "Do you want to learn?"

Athos stilled, blue eyes opening into a surprised frown. Aramis waited as patiently as he could as he saw the idea being tossed around.

Of course, for Aramis, patience equalled a little wriggling and fingers smoothing along skin, his own ideas swiftly turning heated as he watched Athos thinking so intently.

Their lips only a scant breath apart, Athos kissed him very gently, almost absent-mindedly. "Should I?"

Aramis sighed needily into another of those careful kisses. "No, but your omniscience would thank you."

A quirk of crooked lips, but there was still something confused in that determined gaze Aramis loved so much. "Would you teach me?"

Aramis' mouth dropped, stunned at such an honest request for help. Athos didn't take to new things, to change, he had to be bullied, bribed, begged.

Aramis melted into a puddle of happiness, his palms falling to cup Athos' cheeks. "Of course,  _mon cher_. We can start now."

"Now? But—"

Aramis pushed at Athos' chest and rolled away. "No, if you don't do it now, you won't at all."

"Aramis," Athos said through gritted teeth, "I rather had a different idea of what to do with you."

Aramis swayed, pure temptation in that dark-eyed look, but then he rested his palms on his hips. "Call it your reward."

Athos let his head drop, both hands fisting into the duvet. "I'm going to regret this, aren't I?"

Aramis called him over with one out-stretched hand, and, for once, Athos came. Today was a day of firsts. "Nonsense, even d'Artagnan can ride a bike."

Athos didn't quite drag his feet as Aramis led him downstairs, but it was a close-run thing. "Of course he can, the whelp probably delivered newspapers."

Aramis looked over his shoulder in amusement. "Yes, and delivered  _Hovis_  down a hill – honestly, Athos, do you live in the past?"

Whatever muttered comment he made that would have probably scandalised a village was lost as Aramis unlocked their front door and ventured outside into the bright sunlight.

It took a moment to realise he was alone.

"Are you coming?"

Athos was lurking in the doorway. "It's too sunny."

Aramis rolled his eyes and ventured into the garage, wheeling out the dilapidated thing that hadn't seen much use since he had discovered Zumba.

And Constance was wrong, his playlists were so much better than hers, who  _didn't_ want to listen to Disney songs to work out?

Athos eyed the bicycle in the same way that someone would eye a wounded animal, wondering whether it would bite his head off, or if he should just put it down.

Athos asked for detailed instructions, so Aramis gave them, his own example a little wobbly after so long, but it was enough to prompt Athos into inhaling a deep breath and nudging Aramis aside.

Aramis couldn't help but smile when Athos mimicked his casual stance, sat on the seat, one foot on a pedal, one hand on Aramis' hip.

"I miss Porthos' motorbike, sometimes," he mused, brushing a good luck kiss against Athos' cheek.

"At least he kept the leathers." Athos suddenly looked up when Aramis shifted his weight. "No, I'm not wearing a helmet, Aramis," he said firmly, and then he pushed off, managing a good few feet before stopping.

Aramis held his breath, suddenly wondering whether this was a good idea. Athos was like a dog with a bone, relentless, and for all Aramis was touched that Athos asked him for help, this could end terribly.

For both Athos and the bike.

Aramis winced when Athos fell, but knew better than to run over and make a fuss – he would do it later, in bed, with feather-light kisses and healing hands, when Athos was more receptive to such things.

It was Athos, so he fell like a fencer, like a fighter, lightly and braced to jump back up again. Aramis saw him raise his hand to his mouth, heard a faint hiss of pain as he sucked at a cut.

Aramis leaned into a hip and sighed; no matter how often he swatted him, Athos still licked at his wounds, Porthos was the same. One of these days Aramis was going to come home after visiting his parents and find that one of them had gotten an infection – and feverish Athos was a  _daunting_ prospect.

Whether the pain was a focuser or not, Athos managed a little longer this time, stopping short of a whole circuit with a grunt as he planted his feet firmly on the ground. "There, now I know, know to never do it ever again."

Aramis walked into his arms, smiling when he felt Athos relax. "You did very well,  _mon cher_."

"Hmph," was Athos' reply, and a kiss that started soft and swiftly turned bruising, and mingled with it was a quiet, "Thank you."

Aramis knew there was no point murmuring soothing nothings and compliments, those didn't work with Athos, and so he whispered, "Let me ride you, instead."

"A far more favourable idea."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Neon-coloured leg warmers and everything. Athos tries to hide elsewhere when Frozen is blasting through the house, and by the time he warily ventures downstairs, half his wine's gone and there's giggles coming from the kitchen. Danger.
> 
> Your comments are like the training wheels to my tricycle, so please leave one! You can find us on Tumblr at [ComeHitherAshes](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com) and SirLancelotTheBrave. The tags used are ([#2k15 April Writing Challenge](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/2k15-April-Writing-Challenge)) and ([#A Musketeers' Bloom](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/A-Musketeers%27-Bloom)).


	17. It's A Hard Camp Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 17 - _‘I know nothing about camping will you help me I think I heard a bear'_
> 
> It's a year today that Lancelot and I first met, so have our favourite prompt of the month as a celebration!
> 
>  **TAGS:** Athamis, OT3, I forgot about the bear, sry, I also apologise if the title reference song gets stuck in your head, ('stead-a treated), no honestly, I'll stop, ('stead-a kisses), I CAN'T.

"Athos, you can't take a portable dishwasher, where will you plug it in?"

"Do you expect me to wash my plates by hand?"

"Yes?"

"You seem to be confused, Aramis, the only way we're doing this charade is my way."

Aramis looked up at him, all tumbled curls and soul-crushing innocence – soul-crushing because Athos had seen that exact same look not an hour ago between his legs.

Aramis was as innocent as a basket of kittens, needling claws and an inherent capacity for mischief, but the eyes that caught Athos' were full of golden sparks and dark spots.

Aramis had the smile of a cat that had you in its claws.

"Come here,  _chaton,_ " Athos murmured, the order in it saying that he was firmly not swayed by that smile, the huskiness in the order saying otherwise.

Aramis prowled over, all sensual charm and lowered lashes, and Athos vaguely remembered how empty life was before him, with far fewer tricks to keep him on his toes.

Hooking a finger around Aramis' chin, he held him still for a kiss and to say against those clever lips, "I will pack what I want."

Which didn't explain how they left half an hour later without it, but Aramis' smug smile did.

The windows were down, the music was playing, and Athos' arm along the back of Aramis' chair was occasionally being peppered in kisses.

"When was the last time you were out of the city, _mon cher?_ "

"Too recently," Athos muttered, his nose wrinkling at the unmistakeable scent of manure.

Fortunately for everyone involved – including the cows – the smell passed once they reached the campsite.

It was sparse – which, Aramis told him, was the point – and did lend itself to privacy when they had unloaded their recently acquired gear and Athos asked, "What do you mean you don't know how to put up a tent?"

"I was going to Google it," Aramis explained in some shock, which only increased when he cried, " _but there's no Internet._ "

"Do you mean to say you coerced me into this venture without any actual knowledge of what to do now that we're here?" Athos voice had iced over, and he saw Aramis click into the charm offensive. "We're leaving."

The charm turned into unadultered pleading. "No, Athos, please!"

Slender fingers twined with his, and Athos wavered, as he always did. "We can camp in a hotel, instead."

"But I want to  _try_ it,  _mon cher_ , for real, outdoors. I never got to do it when I was young."

Athos' sigh was torn, ever at Aramis' wish for recreating things from his youth – or the things that Athos never experienced, like his first Easter egg hunt last year.

The memory of Aramis' excitement as they traipsed around the garden with a specially bought little basket covered in ribbons made Athos close his eyes.

"Fine."

Aramis flew into his arms and almost immediately Athos had to corral the twitch of his lip.

"I won't say you won't regret it, but I'll make it up to you," Aramis peeked up at him, "I promise."

Athos was cheered by that prospect at least. "So, how do we put this travesty of a tent up?"

Aramis turned until his back was pressed to Athos' chest and eyed it dubiously. "It has something to do with those sticks and some string. I saw it once on television," Aramis mused, and then waved a hand. "Let's do it later."

"It will be dark later."

"I want to go for a walk!" Aramis pleaded, and Athos found himself being dragged past far better tents, including a few caravans.

"We should have hired one of those."

"That's  _glamping_ , Athos, entirely different."

Athos shook his head, wondering why someone had bothered to differentiate between the lowest levels of Hell. Still, he had to admit, it was rather pleasant to walk along the cliffs, the sea breeze invigorating, Aramis screaming when he kept stepping into rabbit holes.

Pulling him close and covering his mouth, Athos pointed ahead of them with the other, Aramis' wriggles stilling when he saw what he was looking at. One tiny rabbit had wandered away from the colony and was nibbling on a daisy.

Sleek and grey, it hopped to and fro, eliciting a delighted smile under Athos' palm, but when he moved it, it scattered them all, cottontails bouncing.

Aramis settled against him, sighing happily. "See, isn't this nice?"

Athos nosed along Aramis' ear, humming at the contented moment.

"We should have brought a picnic," Aramis murmured, and Athos paused, casting a glance behind them at the long and empty path back to the campsite.

Athos knocked Aramis' knee with his own, falling with him onto the grass, braced at the last moment by Athos arm as the other curved protectively around Aramis' shoulders. "I'm quite happy with mine, actually."

Aramis immediately arched, bent legs holding Athos' thighs in place, his smile coquettish as he started undoing his shirt buttons. Athos waited until he was about halfway before growing tired and urging him upwards with an encouraging noise, pulling the material over Aramis' head and keeping it about his wrists.

Aramis pouted as he fell back against the grass. "I want to touch you."

Athos bit at Aramis' plump lower lip, calling himself a fool when he let the fiend go and slender fingers immediately went to his own shirt. The open ends tickled at Aramis' stomach, but they were both too busy swiping palms over sun-warmed skin to take it off completely.

Besides, Athos would probably burn.

A lazy but thorough exploration of all the cliff's beauties later, they ambled back to camp hand-in-hand, Aramis flushed and ruffled, and Athos quiet and content.

It was Athos who stiffened when they noticed someone leaning on the bonnet of their car, whereas Aramis almost skipped ahead when he saw their tent upright and complete.

Athos thought he might have been a staff member, but the jeans and general roguishness of him said otherwise.

"Hey, saw you were havin' trouble with your tent so I—" The man trailed off when he looked at them closely, but rather than frown, Athos was surprised to see him grin. "Oh, I see how it is, I play the good Samaritan as you two are off knockin' boots? Charmin'."

At any other time, Athos might have bristled, but still languid and with Aramis tucked against his side, he found himself rather…  _charitable._

Of course, the thin t-shirt that bared more muscle than it covered and Aramis' charming little smile helped.

"As you've saved me the hassle, perhaps you'd join us for a drink?"

A familiar mischief filled that grin, and Athos lost his gaze to Aramis' for a moment, and then it travelled over them both – resting rather specifically on the red scratch marks just peeking out of Athos' collar. "Sure, why not? Name's Porthos."

"Will your friends mind?" Aramis asked after introductions, and Athos smirked at the wheedling tone.

"Nah, fairly certain they're just waitin' for me to fuck off so they can hump like rabbits anyway – seems to be my lot, today."

Athos made a disapproving noise. "I can assure you that at the very least we'll wait until you fall asleep."

Aramis snickered against Athos' neck when Porthos' laugh seemed surprised out of him. "Cheeky."

"Isn't he just?" Aramis murmured interestedly, and Athos shrugged.

He was being charitable, nothing more.

Charity explained the wine Athos idly passed between them, charity explained Athos' laughter as they shared stories, and charity explained his heated smile when Aramis teased Porthos about his bandana and Porthos mock-growled at him.

Fine, perhaps it wasn't, and perhaps Athos was planning for Porthos to be very much awake when he tumbled Aramis, and perhaps that bandana was going to see some use.

It was the fresh air.

And the mischief.

After the sun had long set, Athos raised the last bottle and shook it. "You've drunk us quite literally out of house and home, Porthos."

"I've got beer?"

Aramis, already a little unsteady, frowned adorably. "Beer makes me drunk."

Athos met Porthos' eye with a faint smile. "I think that's a yes."

"S'definitely a yes," Porthos chuckled, and disappeared into the night.

Immediately, Aramis jumped on him, the tent's thin material not much comfort when Athos was pushed against the ground and straddled. "See? Isn't camping so much fun?"

Athos tried to speak through an onslaught of kisses. "It's the company, not the camping, that's fun,  _chaton._ "

"Like fuckin' rabbits, I swear—" Porthos halted in the tent's opening with beers in his hands.

Aramis looked up with guilty hope, and Athos simply raised an eyebrow, curious as to what Porthos would do.

"S'this my cue to leave?"

Aramis shook his head, one hand sliding up Athos' thigh. A hand that Porthos watched raptly until Athos started to smile. "I think it's your cue to join in, actually."

The most devilish grin spread across Porthos' face, and then he zipped the tent shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S A HARD KNOCK LIFE.  
> This could have so easily been extended, Athos finding that Aramis had packed a hair-dryer (oh, the back-pedalling), Porthos taking them down to the beach and showing them the places he's explored (and then explores anew, with rather different explorations in mind)...
> 
> Your comments are like the poles and pegs to my tent, so please leave one! You can find us on Tumblr at [ComeHitherAshes](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com) and SirLancelotTheBrave. The tags used are ([#2k15 April Writing Challenge](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/2k15-April-Writing-Challenge)) and ([#A Musketeers' Bloom](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/A-Musketeers%27-Bloom)).


	18. Toilet Humour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 18 - _We’re on a blind date, but wait a moment… aren’t you that guy who gave me a hand job at a Renaissance Faire a year ago?… what do you MEAN “WHICH ONE”?_
> 
> I have no idea what a Renaissance Faire entails, so this features the MCM Expo in London, instead - where cosplay dreams and health-and-safety warnings go to die.
> 
>  **TAGS:** Portamis, yes, that's right, smut, blow jobs to precise, and the 'Never Ever' game, which is one of my favourites, I started a fic of it somewhere, also I should mention that some places in the States have these half-inch gaps in toilet stall doors, what is that all about, so strange.

Porthos stepped inside the classy bar and suddenly wished he had tucked his shirt in.

So close to the West End it was full of theatre types, artsy laughter and airy confidence. Porthos felt out of place immediately, shifting from foot-to-foot as he bewailed yet another of these bloody blind dates.

Attention prickled at his skin, and Porthos looked up to see a hopeful smile and a spare drink.

He was also fucking gorgeous.

 _Please let this be Aramis_ , Porthos thought desperately as he strode in and switched to his most roguish grin.

Hey, it wasn't like he was going to outclass these snobby pricks, might as well do what he did best.

"You look better'n I feel, but then that ain't hard for you, is it?"

A smile without any restraints, everything laid bare in it – including Porthos if that heavy-lidded look was any indication. "You must be Porthos; Constance said to watch out for the cheesy pick-up lines."

Porthos inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. "She gave all my tricks away already?"

"Not all, I hope."

Porthos let his smile widen. "A magician never reveals 'is secrets."

"We'll see," Aramis murmured, and looked at their glasses when Porthos managed the tiny – but undoubtedly expensive – cocktail in one gulp. "It's a bit pretentious here, fancy going somewhere else?"

"Thank fuck you said it an' not me." Aramis winked at him, throwing enough cash down for them both and grabbing him by the hand. "Hang on, I was gonna pay—"

"You can buy the next round – but be warned, I'm not above stealing drinks."

Porthos laughed, wondering when Aramis would  _ever_ have to buy his own drinks, let alone nick them. "You're a right minx, y'know that? C'mon then, let's get hammered."

There were such dirty promises in that smile, a smile that started seeming strangely familiar. "Your choice."

"An obligin' minx," he remarked, and Aramis swept up next to him to give him a glimmering smile. The walk from Brewer Street to Heddon wasn't long, but Aramis still seemed to enjoy cuddling up tight against Porthos' side.

He was disappointed when they arrived.

"Excellent place for shots," Aramis declared as they sat down at the bar of the boisterous nightclub. "Tequila?"

If Porthos hadn't already known that a night with Aramis would be one to remember, now he was mildly excited at the prospect of being so drunk he had trouble remembering it – provided that he could do it again for the foreseeable future.

Not that he was professing his love for the guy, of course.

"Let's play a game."

Desire and damnation duelled delightfully in Porthos' stomach. "Sure, I've said yes to everythin' else this evenin'."

"It's my favourite answer," Aramis teased, and when little coloured glasses graced the counter, he announced coyly, "I have never… called out the wrong name in bed."

Porthos coughed at the drastically sexual nature of a game he had only played as a kid, but dutifully drank to Aramis' amusement. "Once, but I got away with it."

Aramis gaped at him. "How?"

"Right, so her name was Flea, yeah? And I kinda-sorta had this thing for a newscaster; luckily I only called out the first part."

Aramis snickered, but it was clear he was thinking hard, and Porthos was happy to watch the concentration – it was a good look.

"Fiona Bruce?"

Porthos choked on his drink and Aramis started laughing harder when he scowled good-naturedly. "Yeah, yeah, alright. My turn. I've never… stolen a bottle of champagne."

Aramis scoffed as he drank, "Please, that was boring!"

"Fine, gimme your worst."

With the bottle soon half-empty between them, Aramis was giggling and Porthos had tears streaming from his eyes. "No  _way_ you managed that."

"I swear, I thought he was going to kill me, she was still kissing my neck for God's sake – next thing I know I'm in bed with them both."

"You've got skills, minx."

Aramis preened prettily. "Okay, my turn. I've never…" Aramis met Porthos' eye with lidded ones, a smile flirting with his lips. "Sucked someone off in a toilet."

Porthos had been prepared to drink but then he realised he couldn't, and his mouth dropped when Aramis lifted his own glass and licked the rim.

"Oh, fuck," escaped Porthos' lips.

"What, I have to start saying ones I've done or I won't have anything to say!"

"No, I've just recognised you."

Aramis eyed him for an amused moment. "Porthos, what  _have_ you been looking at on the Internet?"

Porthos wasn't listening, he was thrown backwards in time, the sight of those gorgeous brown eyes above pink lips stretched around his cock, the memory in such hazy but sensual detail that Porthos grinned.

"The MCM Expo, last May."

When Aramis blinked blankly, Porthos started to worry. Had he just likened Aramis to some beautiful bastard whose name he'd never learned except for the constellation that had formed behind his eyelids when he came?

"What were you wearing?"

Porthos spluttered, "What was I— What d'you mean what was I wearin'?!"

Aramis shrugged. "My after party started at about midday, so it's all a bit out-of-focus."

Porthos was fucking offended.

"You can't've been, you can't take alcohol inside…" Porthos' mouth dropped open, another memory clicking into place. "You nicked my rum in the mornin', after we took that cosplay photo."

Aramis' smirk grew as his gaze trailed languorously down Porthos' body, lingering on his spread thighs. "Captain Jack."

"Will Turner," Porthos chuckled, remembering sinfully tight trousers and curls far too perfect for a pirate. "You broke the code."

Aramis leaned forward, one hand falling onto Porthos' knee. "It's more guidelines, anyway."

The challenge in it was intoxicating, and flames fuelled by alcohol seemed to scorch his insides. "Yeah? Well I'm thinkin' of amendin' my last answer."

Aramis' breath caught, "Excellent idea."

Porthos had him up against the wall of the toilets in seconds, Aramis' gasping cry ringing around the tiny room when Porthos stroked downwards as he hunkered down.

It had been a while, admittedly, but the way Aramis rutted against his hand and whispered a stream of Spanish had Porthos eagerly tearing at the fiddly buttons on Aramis' jeans until he could stroke heated flesh and Aramis' voice cracked.

He'd forgotten how fun this was.

Porthos took him whole, having to stop when his throat protested this sudden change. Still, the view was pretty fantastic; Aramis' hands scrabbling against the tiles and a cascade of fluttering lashes as he desperately tried to watch Porthos at work.

At play was probably more appropriate, because he took his time pulling back, grinning all the while.

"You gonna forget this, Aramis? 'Cause I can stop if you want."

Aramis keened, a whispered "nononono" making Porthos chuckle, making him want to prolong it, want to torture Aramis silly with long slow slicks, the ones that ended with a swirl around the tip as if he was about to suck but then dipped back down the other side.

The exact same ones that had sent him crazy last year.

Revenge was… surprisingly sweet and sticky.

When one of those clenched hands reached for his head, Porthos grabbed it and sucked a tan digit into his mouth, dragging his teeth over a knuckle when Aramis whimpered.

"Please, Porthos!"

Porthos groaned, already in love with his name on Aramis' tongue, already in love with what was on his own, and nudged Aramis' hand to his head to set the pace he wanted.

Nails in his scalp were like pinpricks of pleasure, and Aramis must have felt his moan because no sooner had Porthos taken him an inch deeper when Aramis bucked, a gasp of warning which Porthos ignored, and then he came with a cry of Porthos' name.

He wanted to hear it again and again, his blood pulsing with the perfection of it as he swallowed.

Porthos rose with a wince as his knees protested, and then he slumped back against the opposite wall, pleased when Aramis fell in a shivering mass against his chest. He started crawling up with shaky hands to latch onto Porthos' jaw, slowly making his way towards Porthos' mouth.

Aramis was going to kiss him.

"Woah, woah," he murmured, and caught a flash of hurt in Aramis' eyes. "No, s'just, we didn't last time." A glimmer of comprehension, of fond surprise. Porthos snatched the tequila bottle from the floor, swilling a shot around his mouth. "Not that it tasted much different."

Aramis snorted, the curve of his lips almost pressing against Porthos'. "I bleed tequila."

Their kiss was soft, exploring, until he tasted Aramis' tongue and the fresh burst of tequila made him remember something very interesting.

"Wait a sec, did you say you 'ad a porn vid?"

Aramis pulled back to look at his face, wariness in his own. "Um?"

"Can I see it?"

At the cheeky question, Aramis started to smirk, his fingers slipping over the tightness of Porthos' jeans. "I can give you a private show."

"Excellent idea."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, I had such high hopes for this one and then I wrote too much and it all got a bit compressed. I think I failed at the smut, today.
> 
> Your comments are like the lemon and salt to my tequila, so please leave one! You can find us on Tumblr at [ComeHitherAshes](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com) and SirLancelotTheBrave. The tags used are ([#2k15 April Writing Challenge](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/2k15-April-Writing-Challenge)) and ([#A Musketeers' Bloom](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/A-Musketeers%27-Bloom)).


	19. Way to Make an Entrée

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 19 - _You’re my waiter and I’m on a really crappy date with an asshole._
> 
> You know how there's that trope-y thing of men saying, "I would dress her in the most expensive silks and cover her in pearls!" Weeeeell, I thought to do away with that.
> 
>  **TAGS:** Constagnan, implied Athamis, the introduction of a character, Bonacieux is no longer my scapegoat, this one's far more fun to loathe, yes I laughed very much at my title, sort of like this, ohohohoho.

Constance sipped on her wine and vowed to slap Aramis the next time that she saw him.

It was his idea that she go on this insufferable date, and perhaps she had been a little bit jealous of his annoyingly perfect relationship and so wanted to find one of her own, but this was just pushing the limit.

Perhaps she should have taken note when even Athos had seemed alarmed at Aramis' latest pick of their colleagues, and then the murmured, "She'll eat him alive."

Just because Constance had ended up storming out of three restaurants in as many months did  _not_ make her an aggressive person, it simply meant that the people she had walked out on were narrow-minded fools.

As was this one.

It was bad enough that Henri had no fashion sense to speak of, worse that the idiot didn't seem to realise that the department he kept disparaging was hers.

"I'm just saying, how hard is it to come up with a pattern? I could come up with a hundred right now."

Constance took a measured breath and gave a tight smile. "Yes, but could you come up a hundred completely different ones every single day, something pleasing to the eye?"

The uninformed buffoon gave her a blank look. "Yes."

That blank look was saved from having Constance's designs all over it by the arrival of the waiter, a waiter with hair that seemed to constantly fall into his eyes.

It was surprisingly endearing, and the black strands looked softer than silk, a pleasing contrast to the dark grey of his waistcoat that looked slightly too large for him.

Her head still filled with designs after a day's work, she eyed him as she would a mannequin. Constance would dress him in rich colours, the occasional splash of neon to bring out the caramel of his skin.

Perhaps slightly more attractive than a mannequin.

Constance demurely murmured her thanks as he served their food.

Good Lord above his smile was adorable.

She was vaguely aware of Henri's face twisting into something disdainful. "I think it's disgusting that you don't tie your hair back when serving food, what if you  _moult_ into it?"

The boy's friendly face fell into hurt, a surprised, slightly vulnerable look entering those large brown eyes, and Constance immediately swept to his defence.

"He's not a cat."

"He might as well be for the way he prances about the room," Henri sniped, and Constance started to seethe. "What's your name?"

"D'Artagnan," he stammered, looking bewildered, lifting a plate up against his chest as if Henri was about to strike him.

"It's fine, d'Artagnan, Henri here is just  _infuriatingly picky_ ," Constance growled the last of this in Henri's direction, who snorted rudely but settled back into his chair with a misplaced sense of cocksure charm, one hand sweeping through his fair hair.

"Forgive me for wanting professionalism, but fine, coddle the boy," Henri drawled, and Constance gritted her teeth and offered d'Artagnan an apologetic look. "I think we're done here, fetch me the bill."

Constance huffed a frustrated sigh, but was more relieved to be given any chance to escape the odious idiot's company.

D'Artagnan returned with the PIN reader, and after having the card practically thrown at him, announced nonchalantly, "I'm afraid your card's been declined, Mr Rochefort."

Henri sneered contemptuously. "What? That's impossible, do it again."

A series of beeps later and d'Artagnan announced again, "Declined, do you have another method of payment?"

Henri threw his napkin onto the table and stood abruptly. "You are impertinent, after I've called my bank I demand to speak to your manager."

D'Artagnan simply nodded, and when Henri had stormed off, muttered, "Good riddance."

Constance felt her lip twitch. "I'm sorry about him, I can pay." D'Artagnan glanced at her, something reluctant in his expression. Reluctance, and mischief. "Was it really declined?"

An adorable flush crept up his cheeks. "No, and I added a tip."

Constance laughed, tilting her head when he grinned happily at her, the picture of a pleased rapscallion being encouraged. "Good, you deserved one. Can I give you another?"

His happiness dimmed slightly to be replaced with charming confusion. "Sure?"

"I hear that new bar down the road has really great drinks at happy hour."

It took a moment for the penny to drop, but when it did, d'Artagnan ducked his head to hide his sweet little smile. "That sounds nice. Happy hour, you said?"

Constance nodded, trying to sound serious but knowing her smile was giving her away. "Don't be late."

"I promise…?" A hopeful gleam entered those pretty brown eyes, and Constance probably fell for them a bit faster than she should have done.

"Constance." She held her hand out and he took it, his grip firm, not testing her strength but not limp enough to insult her.

He did hold onto it slightly overlong though, his smile gaining an edge that didn't make him look quite so boyish anymore. "I promise, Constance."

Constance nodded succinctly, pursing her lips to hide her elated smile. She glanced back after she left the restaurant, and laughed when she saw d'Artagnan's sunny grin, one that brightened when Henri appeared but so did a rather threatening-looking man with a scar running through one eye.

The manager, presumably, and Constance paused across the street to watch.

D'Artagnan seemed emboldened with this man at his back, and when Henri leaned forward to yell in their faces, the manager jerked his head at the door and clapped a hand on d'Artagnan's shoulder.

She would remember to invite them both on their next work's do as a thank you; he seemed like the type her friends would get on with.

The question was whether d'Artagnan would let her pin him for a suit.

And whether she could hold herself back from pinning him against a chair.

Constance strolled away with happy determination, her mind full of caramel and a very sweet smile that she rather wanted to taste.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pretty puppy found a playmate; I miss writing as Constance, she's so much fun!
> 
> Your comments are like the compliments to my chef, so please leave one! You can find us on Tumblr at [ComeHitherAshes](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com) and SirLancelotTheBrave. The tags used are ([#2k15 April Writing Challenge](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/2k15-April-Writing-Challenge)) and ([#A Musketeers' Bloom](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/A-Musketeers%27-Bloom)).


	20. Make A Left At Albuquerque

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 20 - _Arguments while travelling as to whether person #1 has magically gained a sense of direction since the last time person #2 stupidly listened to #1’s directions and they got lost. (Spoiler: no, person #1 has not magically gained a sense of direction.)_
> 
> Have a cutesy one as I've soured everyone's hearts in TDFS today! I seem to delve off-prompt a fair bit, lately, but then they started sniping at each other and d'Artagnan piped up. (Nyahhhh, what's up, doc?)
> 
>  **TAGS:** OT3, implied Constagnan, power dynamics~!

It was their first chance at a holiday in months, Athos had been out of the country, Porthos had been working too hard, Aramis was visiting family, and even Constance wasn't set to arrive at the hotel until she got off work this evening.

It had been so very last minute that Aramis had called it this morning, announced that Athos had flown in last night and desperately needed some sea air – whatever that meant, Athos hated the sea – and they had left an hour later.

The joy of spontaneity, however, didn't seem to affect everyone.

The little country roads were full of potholes, most of them too thin to even fit a single car through, let alone allow for two to pass each other without someone making friends with the hedges.

It didn't help that Athos was behind the wheel and considered it a personal challenge when a bitter Porthos had said they wouldn't make it by midday.

They took a blind corner way too fast and nearly clipped a tractor.

"Fuckin' 'ell, Athos, slow down!"

Athos simply rolled his eyes and pushed a little harder on the accelerator, the bushes whipping past until Porthos' hand smacked down onto Athos' leg and squeezed. "Athos," it was a warning growl, and Athos' smirk came into play even as he slowed down.

"There's no need to be scared, Porthos, I know what I'm doing."

"What, you  _know_ that you're gonna kill us?"

"If we end up a twisted wreckage, you are very welcome to say  _I told you so._ "

Porthos' laugh was a low, threatening thing, which had Athos glancing over at him and easing the accelerator a bit more.

"Nah, go ahead, you've already pissed me off."

Athos glanced again, his eyes seeming slightly narrower. "Porthos—"

Aramis thrust his head through the gap in the front seats. "Stop flirting when I can't join in."

Porthos didn't let go of Athos' leg until he had slowed all the way down to 20, and even then he took his time in doing so.

Athos immediately jumped back up to 30.

D'Artagnan thought this a perfect time for him to interrupt with a chirpy, "Are we there yet?"

He simply grinned at the three poisonous looks thrown his way, and continued grinning when Aramis attempted to crawl into Porthos' lap before being ordered by both driver and passenger-driver to put his seatbelt back on.

Alliances were a fickle thing, because almost immediately afterwards they turned on each other again.

"Ask for directions," Aramis announced, and was ignored by both drivers.

"Just check the map, Porthos."

"Don't need to, s'up here." Porthos tapped the side of his head.

Athos sighed heavily and murmured, "May God have mercy on us all."

"You are really pushin' it, today."

"What, the accelerator? No, but I can—"

"Don't you fuckin' dare."

There was another of Athos' smirks, and d'Artagnan frowned at their unusual bickering before Aramis faux-whispered next to him, "It's been a while."

D'Artagnan's snort of laughter earned absolute silence, and Aramis' grin didn't seem to help.

Finally, his phone's GPS kicked in, grabbing onto some scant signal as the map filled itself in. "It's the next left."

"No it isn't, it's right," Porthos said gruffly.

"I think d'Artagnan's right," Aramis remarked dubiously.

"Which do I do?"

"Mine, don't listen to 'im."

"Oh, my God, I  _have_ a map."

Porthos twisted in his chair and scowled. "Bollocks you do, there's no signal!"

"How would you know, Porthos, checked for yourself?" Athos asked slyly, which prompted another growl and for Porthos to swipe for d'Artagnan's phone.

"Give it!"

D'Artagnan yelped and dodged instinctively, wriggling away from Porthos' hand, ending up somewhere over the back-seat. "Say please!"

"Pup, for fuck's sake—"

Athos' gaze flicked to him in the rear-view mirror. "D'Artagnan, sit down!"

"The fork is coming," Aramis announced, stretching lazily over the spot d'Artagnan had vacated. He might have complained had he and Porthos not frozen to see what Athos would do.

The air was taut with expectation.

Athos turned left and d'Artagnan let out a whoop when Porthos' jaw dropped. "You listened to  _him?_ "

"He has a map," Athos said with a shrug, smiling at Porthos' indignant affront and nodding at a road sign. "Don't pout, he was right."

Porthos settled back into his chair with a grunt, muttering, "Watch yourself, Athos, your lives are runnin' out."

"Goodie," Aramis purred to Athos' amused scoff, and d'Artagnan was left to wince at what he realised was some serious sexual tension in the car.

Or was it sea air?

No wonder Athos had snapped at him for getting crumbs all over the seats.

Actually it was kind of funny, for once it was Aramis who was the emotional balance, whilst Porthos grumbled at everything and Athos was actually fidgeting.

Funny until he realised that he really did not want the room near them, tonight.

They tumbled out gratefully into the sunshine, stretching limbs and heaving sighs, Aramis throwing his hands out and sniffing the salt-tang breeze, leaving Porthos to heft their bags and follow Athos.

Big mistake.

"If you're very good, I'll let you drive home," Athos taunted as he walked away.

D'Artagnan snickered when Porthos dropped the bags onto the gravel and promptly tackled Athos to the grass, the most undignified hiss coming from an Athos who was suddenly pinned face-first to the ground.

"That's it, your luck's run out, sweetheart."

They both called for Aramis at the same time, who skipped happily over as if all of his dreams were coming true with a sing-song, "Yeees?"

"Get him off of me!"

"Give me a hand, please, love?"

"It would be my pleasure," Aramis replied sunnily, and sat on Athos' legs, much to his snarl of displeasure.

D'Artagnan shook his head with a rueful grin and grabbed his bag, he wasn't going to hang around to see where it went, he only hoped that the hotel was under-staffed today.

Nobody needed to see that, sea air or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idk, Athos isn't the needy type, to me. When without for a certain amount of time, Aramis whines, Porthos gets grumpy (and grabby), and Athos just gets snarky; all three is a recipe for disaster - fortunately the end result is rather flavourful.
> 
> Your comments are like the map to my meandering, so please leave one! You can find us on Tumblr at [ComeHitherAshes](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com) and SirLancelotTheBrave. The tags used are ([#2k15 April Writing Challenge](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/2k15-April-Writing-Challenge)) and ([#A Musketeers' Bloom](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/A-Musketeers%27-Bloom)).


	21. By Richelieu's Beard!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 21 - _Pantheon AU._
> 
> So the pantheon lover in me went crazy for this, and I had one of those great experiences where your research just gets **better and better** (like did you know Cardinal Richelieu had a statue of Dionysus in his collection? I shit you not). I'll adore you always if you catch which gods I've likened to who!
> 
>  **TAGS:** OT3, implications of others, I went through a thousand different ideas before settling on this one, because this one was easier to fit into fewer words, but _oh, the possibilities!_

Treville was very mindful as he stepped into the gauzy pagoda, careful to avoid the silken puddles of cloth and the bowls of grapes that were strewn about the place.

He also tried his best not to touch anything, because he was fairly certain it was all sticky.

A final curtain of purple that had once been held back by a golden rope that was mysteriously missing was all that separated Treville from the garden beyond.

Enclosed by a tall wall, it housed any number of vines, each blooming with different colours and most heavy with produce, some tiny and red and some large and greyish.

Only one bore the rare golden grapes, and it was these that were being idly fed to a figure half-clothed and reclining on a bench. He was slender, sinuously muscled, the arm that hung off the edge lazily clutching a staff that oozed honey onto the stone.

His hair, luxuriant and threaded with leaves, tumbled about the lap of another, this one built larger, sturdier, as if it at a moment's notice he might wield the staff in a rage if you denied him – or one of them – anything.

The third, sat at the other end of the bench with his weight braced upon slowly writhing legs, was at least slightly more dressed than the others. He was, however, wilder than they, bearded and more mature, but with the air of someone who had tasted civility once and found it not to his liking, but wine, that was worth tasting often.

Somehow, the flourishing vineyard still smelled like sex.

Treville was not impressed.

"One, I needed one god for this, and you three show up?"

Aramis waved a lazy hand from his sprawl, Porthos tilted Aramis' head for another golden grape, and only Athos glanced up at him for any length of time, his attention swiftly returning to the scene on offer. "Ecstasy comes in more than one aspect."

"Ecstasy comes way more than once," Porthos joked with the lewd humour one might expect of someone born in the underworld.

"I am a generous god," Aramis announced seriously, taking his time to lick at Porthos' fingers, earning an interested hum from Athos as he trailed a hand up Aramis' thigh.

Treville grimaced. "Too generous, I've had more complaints."

Aramis leaned up on his elbows indignantly, upsetting a bowl of shimmering liquid that flicked into the soil and immediately sprouted as more golden grapes – much to Porthos' delight.

"If it's Anne, tell her that it's not my fault her followers are so fickle – and to stop giving people swords and string, it seriously cuts into the dance time."

"It's not your Anne I'm concerned about."

Athos looked up with a frown, his fingers circling one of Aramis' errant ankles. "I left the shadows long ago. D'Artagnan said he spotted you near the Styx," Athos remarked as if it was the most normal thing in the world, but they all knew it wasn't - and Porthos' roguish grin didn't help.

That river marked the boundary between their lands and the next, a land that none of his people should tread.

Treville just levelled an unimpressed look at them, neither confirming nor denying that slanderous statement. "You're attempting to use him as a spy, now? That's decent of you."

"I believe he prefers the term messenger," Aramis snickered, and arched at something unspeakable but doubtless sexual that was muttered into his ear by Porthos. The scant cover of his robe slipped lower and Treville had to turn away when Athos seemed more interested in simply watching it fall.

Through gritted teeth, Treville asked, "Why isn't he spending all of his time trying to woo Constance?"

"I believe he's trying," Athos murmured as a grape was pushed into his mouth by a sticky-fingered Aramis, "but she's still at a crossroads."

Porthos snorted and Treville rolled his eyes. "Wonderful. I'm leaving, clean this place up."

There was a splatter of grapes on the place he had stood, and faintly he could hear Athos' chiding voice suddenly choked off.

Heathens, the lot of them.

Still, perhaps he should be more careful, there were eyes everywhere and gossip was a golden chariot wielded by those three drunken fools.

With a few glances left and right, spotting d'Artagnan some ways off arguing with a man trying to barge his way onto a boat, Treville slipped into the dark land.

He felt the change immediately, felt it like eyes on the back of his neck and the faraway sound of ticking and whispers.

It wasn't unpleasant, and even if it was, the company he was about to keep always managed to put him at ease.

Treville was always called away too soon on some errand or another, and perhaps that was how it should be. There was no alliance here, nothing beyond the yearning of his heart.

He belonged above, where the harvest was about to begin, not below where the crop was born.

But a brief sojourn wouldn't hurt, just one more; he would make this one the last.

Treville sat down with a weary sigh in one of the two chairs, hearing a far off chorus of barks as he looked over a gently flowering field. It was as close to familiar as it could be, even if the blooms were a ghostly sort of daffodil.

With a fluttering of black robes, the other chair was filled, and Treville smiled at a face he shouldn't know so well. "I've lost all patience with them, Armand."

"You know I have a glass of something that could help you forget all about that," was the dry response, and Treville chuckled.

"I think I'll pass."

"Very well." They sat in companionable silence for a moment, an eagle circling overhead before diving for something beyond their sight. It was just when Treville was thinking of leaving that a slim hand held out a reddish fruit, fingers gripping the juicy flesh. "Pomegranate?"

Treville shrugged curiously. "Couldn't hurt."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to go for the trifecta with Eleutherios as "the liberator", but "the star that brings light to darkness" seemed far more appropriate - and the underworld, c'mon, this writes itself.
> 
> Your comments are like the tithes to my shrine, so please leave one! You can find us on Tumblr at [ComeHitherAshes](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com) and SirLancelotTheBrave. The tags used are ([#2k15 April Writing Challenge](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/2k15-April-Writing-Challenge)) and ([#A Musketeers' Bloom](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/A-Musketeers%27-Bloom)).


	22. To My First Sunrise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 22 - _'My self-esteem is shit right now and I noticed you just went through my entire face tag, tell me I'm pretty'_
> 
> Okay, ready yourself for the cutest patooteist thing you've read today, the _valkyrja_ ride 'pon the winds.
> 
>  **TAGS:** OT3, two becomes three, as in one joins the ranks of the other two, and it's Athos, and by the stars I'm drowning in cotton candy, had to cut words out everywhere, this could have easily been so much longer/more descriptive.

Aramis hooked the phone between his cheek and shoulder, laughter in his voice, "Stalking me?"

There was a definite hesitation before Athos answered, "How did you know?"

"It says when people are viewing my things."

"Oh."

Aramis smiled at Athos' obvious discomfort, and with a melancholy that had been growing since Porthos had left after breakfast, he said, "I'm feeling shit, make me happy again?"

Immediately, the indulgence Aramis wanted rolled through Athos' words. "Why are you feeling shit,  _mon petit paon_?"

Aramis felt his smile growing already, and he rolled over on his bedspread, holding a pillow against his chest. Athos made a noise somewhere between chiding and encouraging, and Aramis huffed a sigh. "I don't know, I just feel a bit aimless."

There was a pause. "Is everything okay with Porthos?"

Aramis slumped dejectedly. The question was an awkward one, Athos had been their best friend for years, he knew them as well as they knew each other – except when he wasn't blind to something so obvious it was painful.

The question was awkward because everything was fine, to an extent.

They were just missing something, but Aramis couldn't exactly tell Athos what it was.

"Get into bed with me?"

There was a pause, something that sounded like an inhaled breath. "Do you mean get into bed at the same time as you whilst on the phone?"

Aramis crossed all his fingers, knowing it for a silly request but needing the comfort. "Yes?"

Another pause, this one sounding like that tiny little smile curved his lips. "Very well."

Aramis made a happy noise and wriggled into his blankets, listening to Athos' sounds of movement and wishing he wasn't hearing them through a phone. "Are you in bed?"

"Yes."

"Prove it," he replied petulantly, because Athos wasn't here and he wanted him to be. "Do you have your pillow at that specific angle you like?"

"Yes, how—?"

"And are you doing that thing where your fingers curve into the duvet?"

"Aramis, I'm suddenly starting to realise what it is you do when I wake up to see you staring at me."

"Do you mind?"

"No," was the immediate reply, and Aramis rolled onto his back, feeling that the bed was too empty and his heart too big.

Why didn't Athos just ask him out? It was all he wanted – well, that and for him to be here, so he could cuddle into his arms and wait for Porthos to come home, wait for Porthos' smile that would be just as stupid as a Aramis' when he saw them together.

They were meant to be, Athos just didn't seem to realise it yet.

"I… I've not had a great day," Aramis said miserably, and because he couldn't tell Athos the whole, yearning, aching part of it, he latched onto something else. "You remember I applied for that modelling job? They turned me down, and then I put my portfolio up online and," Aramis let out an angry but unfortunately watery scoff, "there are some fucking arseholes on the Internet."

"I can't tell Porthos because he'll just say that I don't need someone to tell me I'm gorgeous because I know I am, and, well, I do, but it's still nice to hear someone else say it!"

Athos took a deep, contemplative breath. "You, Aramis, are the prettiest thing I've ever seen, and I've seen the aurora borealis."

Aramis squeaked, half in shock, half in bliss.

"I've seen you on a night out when you're dressed in those impossible jeans and tossing back more neon-coloured liquid than I care to remember – and I always do because I see it again an hour later when you're crying in my arms as you throw it all up again." Athos' voice had turned dry and Aramis winced, but there was an astounding amount of fondness in that familiar, world-weary tone, and Aramis wanted to bury himself in it.

"I've seen you the morning after when you're inexplicably attached to my hip, stealing all the covers, drooling onto my chest, and you still manage to outshine every star in the sky... Are you crying?" Athos' voice was anxious. "I was meant to make you feel better."

"I  _do_  feel better, it's just that was really sweet."

Athos mumbled aggrievedly, "I don't understand."

Aramis laughed, a remarkably wet laugh, but he latched onto the comfort Athos offered, on the compliments that were so rare they had to be true, on the wisdom that Athos could give because he wouldn't sugar-coat things.

"I'm just not sure what I'm  _doing_ , Porthos has his life set out, he knows what he wants. I'm just… drifting," Aramis whispered, eyes squeezed shut against the mingled tears that tracked into his pillow, wishing above all else that both Athos and Porthos were with him.

Only with them did things make sense.

"Aramis," Athos said on a sigh, one that seemed amused and bewildered, as if Aramis didn't understand something. "Porthos has long been the steady earth beneath our feet; always there to rely on, it's not surprising he knows what he wants out of life. He's the bedrock."

"Exactly," Aramis complained quietly, "Porthos has a thing, I don't."

"But you do, you're a flame, a fire, it might flicker in the wind but it's still strong, always warm. You might feel like you're drifting but you're the like the light at the top of a lighthouse," Athos' voice changed to musing, "and I can never tell if you're warning me away or urging me closer to dash myself against the rocks."

Aramis' mouth fell open. "Oh, my God, Athos, did you just use a line on me?"

A strangled noise sounded down the phone. "No."

"Yes, you did."

"I was just trying to make you feel better."

At that moment, Porthos came through the door, but Aramis had already forgotten how shit he had been feeling. "Athos just used a line on me."

Porthos' jaw dropped as Aramis nodded insistently, and from the phone Aramis could just about hear Athos' panicked voice exclaiming, "Did you tell Porthos?!"

A smile dawned at Porthos' mouth. "What was it?"

"He said that you were the bedrock and I was the lighthouse light."

"An' did you tell 'im that he's our lighthouse, 'cause without 'im, I'd be just a cliff an' you'd be just a light, an' only with 'im does everythin' make sense?"

Aramis blinked in the stunned silence. "No, but I think you just did."

Porthos went scarlet. "He's on the phone?"

"Yes," Athos replied quietly.

Porthos looked like he wanted to die for a moment, but then he shrugged. "Good, you need to know that."

In the calm, Aramis and Porthos argued with wild hand gestures and mouthed swear words because  _good God_ they were going to run Athos off before he had even got here.

" _Mon cher,_ would you come see us tomorrow?"

"Yeah, please?"

Another of Athos' pauses, and neither of them knew what this one meant, except that Athos' voice had softened beautifully. "Of course, sleep well,  _mes coeurs._ "

"Night, sweet," Porthos ventured daringly before Aramis hung up the phone, who promptly dragged Porthos onto the bed.

"He called us his hearts!"

"Knew we'd win 'im over eventually," Porthos chuckled, and shed his clothes to sprawl next to Aramis and share delighted kisses.

"We'll need to take that picture down," Aramis said, nodding at the canvas that bedecked the wall at the end of their bed.

Porthos glanced at his artwork and snorted, "He's seen you naked before, love."

"I still maintain that I had no idea he was here."

"You 'ad aftershave on."

"It's the first thing I put on in the morning," Aramis defended lightly.

"Then you hugged 'im."

"It would've been rude not to greet him!"

Porthos raised his brows and grinned. "You 'ad inked 'is name on your arm."

Aramis finally flushed, like a kid who had just been outed to his crush. "Yes, well, that was awkward. Thank God he didn't see."

"He did actually. He asked me after in that contemplative tone that he 'as if that had been his name."

Aramis groaned pitifully. "What did you say?"

"I said yeah," Porthos grinned menacingly.

Aramis buried his face in Porthos' neck and cried, "You're evil."

"I dunno, he reacted as he always does, a blink and an eyebrow raise. He didn't run a mile."

Porthos felt the smile against his collarbone, the happily whispered, "I can't wait to see him."

Porthos tugged him closer until Aramis was sprawled on top, their noses brushing. "Me either."

They both looked up in surprise when the door went, and after a pitiful attempt at dressing – a pair of pyjamas between them – they opened the door onto a ruffled Athos.

Aramis ran into his arms as Athos smiled self-consciously at Porthos' grin. "I couldn't wait."

Porthos brandished the pen that had just been making tracks across Aramis' forearm, Athos noticing his name with surprised delight. "Neither could we."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've heard that aurora borealis line for reals, and as a Brit who's never seen it, it still manages to make my heart skip a beat.
> 
> Your comments are like the solar winds to my atmosphere, so please leave one! You can find us on Tumblr at [ComeHitherAshes](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com) and SirLancelotTheBrave. The tags used are ([#2k15 April Writing Challenge](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/2k15-April-Writing-Challenge)) and ([#A Musketeers' Bloom](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/A-Musketeers%27-Bloom)).


	23. The Impromptu at A&E

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 23 - _'I’m calling to cancel our date because I’m actually in the ER right now, sorry. …I mean, sure, I guess you can come down here, but… okay…'_
> 
> "Frenchmen have an unlimited capacity for gallantry and indulge it on every occasion." - Molière (because I've never been able to read _The Misanthrope_ the same way since the boys).
> 
>  **TAGS:** Porthathos, only just realised that apparently I think of these two immediately when there's a hospital prompt involved, it's the other way around this time though, and I seriously ran out of time to write, sigh.

"Do you  _see_ why I refused to allow you a dog?"

D'Artagnan gave Athos a truly forlorn look, clutching the wriggling bundle of fur closer to his chest. "It wasn't his fault!"

Athos simply glared, and then he thrust his forearm in front of d'Artagnan's face, relishing the boy's wince when he caught sight of the ragged holes.

"Well, okay, perhaps it was a little his fault…"

Athos snatched his arm away again when a black nose quested curiously in his direction. "A little?! I should have him put down!"

D'Artagnan covered the mutt's ears. "Don't say that!"

Athos was tempted to box d'Artagnan's own ears at this rate. "I swear, d'Artagnan, if they have to amputate my arm because of the disease in that thing's mouth, I am going to sue you for every penny you have."

"Athos, you're richer than Midas!"

"And then I will put all the money into a restraining order!"

D'Artagnan gasped in horror, "Athos, you wouldn't!"

"I would, and you know I would!"

"Sir, if you could keep it down, you're scaring the other patients," a nervous orderly ventured, and d'Artagnan lived up to the image by cowering in his chair, the mongrel mimicking him.

Only Athos saw the flash of mischief in the smile hidden behind floppy ears.

Unbidden, humour sparked reluctantly at his lips as he whispered, "I am going to tear you to pieces on the practice courts next week."

"With that arm? Good luck," d'Artagnan teased, and yelped when Athos feigned a lunge at him.

Twenty minutes later and with only a few pills popped for the growing pain, Athos slumped back into the unforgiving plastic chair and sighed, "You don't have to stay."

"Yes, I do." D'Artagnan fidgeted until he was leaning against Athos' shoulder, but they both flinched when the mongrel in his arms decided to see if Athos tasted nice a second time. "Okay, maybe I'll go."

"Yes, do, and take that creature with you."

"Are you sure you'll be okay?"

"I survived perfectly well without you for twenty-five years, d'Artagnan, the last two have brought me nothing but trouble."

D'Artagnan's lip twitched, wanting to pout but needing to smile, and Athos actually thanked the mongrel for a moment, because it meant that d'Artagnan wouldn't hug him.

Athos' steely reserve would falter then.

"Off with you," Athos murmured, allowing a tiny amount of fondness into his words.

D'Artagnan almost left, but then he hesitated at the last moment, bringing that infernal bundle back to Athos for a moment. "There  _might_ be an issue…"

Athos sighed, very well versed in that tone somewhere between pleading and look-how-innocent-I-am. "What have you done?"

"Well, you remember I installed that dating app on your phone?"

"Yes…"

"I may or may not but definitely did set up a date for tonight," the words came out in a stream and Athos tolerance turned into total annihilation.

"You  _what?_ "

"Bye!"

Athos went to chase after him, but a throb of his arm sent him stumbling backwards, and he briefly contemplated just cracking his head against the wall and being done with it.

Instead, after a stern look from a few nurses, Athos warily opened the supposed death-trap that his phone had become, and found that most awful of things to be true.

He had a date, and if that were not all, he had to cancel a date he hadn't even wanted.

Athos was going to murder d'Artagnan, and the dog.

It rang twice before being picked up by a gruff, slightly eager voice. "Hello?"

"This is Athos—"

"Yeah, I 'ave your number."

Athos glared at his phone for a moment, noticing belatedly that the name  _Porthos_ had been entered into his contacts. "I'm afraid something's come up."

"Oh, right."

Athos hesitated, confused by the genuine note of resignation in this stranger's compelling voice. It must be the painkillers, because he felt the need to explain.

"I'm at the hospital."

"I've 'eard some weird stories when bein' stood up before, but this is a first."

Athos snorted softly, eyeing the throbbing holes on his wrist. "I assure you, I wouldn't be sat in this insufferable room unless I had to be."

"Wait, you're serious? Are you okay, is someone there with you?"

Athos blinked at the suddenly concerned tone, surprised to hear sympathy from a stranger. "No, I'm just waiting to be seen—"

"I'll come over."

Athos backpedalled wildly, "There's really no need."

"I'm already leavin', Athos, deal with it."

Athos snarled before he hung up the phone, "Fine."

Overbearing brute.

The brute must have broken every speed limit to get him so quickly, and Athos was left rather lost for words when he noticed the mountain of a man barrel into the waiting room only to help an old lady to her seat.

It was that faintly gobsmacked expression that attracted Porthos' attention.

"Bloody 'Ell, what 'appened to you?" Porthos asked as he fell into the seat next to Athos, fingers almost grazing the reddened skin of his arm, a gesture that said he knew what Athos looked like.

Athos, however, was still trying to look his fill.

"My brat of a neighbour has a new dog," he managed finally, feeling as if the room had gotten smaller, and not really minding.

Porthos hissed in sympathy, head tilting as he examined the marks. "What breed was it?"

Athos flushed slightly. "It's not important."

The most infuriatingly attractive grin spread across Porthos' face. "Go on, what was it?"

"It was a dachshund, if you must know," Athos announced angrily, "one with very sharp teeth!"

Mirth twinkled in Porthos' eyes. "Sorry, it looks really painful… Want me to beat up your neighbour?"

Athos tried not to smirk and failed. "No, thank you."

"Then I guess you're stuck with me," Porthos remarked cheerfully, and true to his word, remained by Athos' side until he was discharged with a gauze that Porthos promised to decorate after he had made him some dinner.

Overbearing, yes, but quite gallant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up for the weekend, I'm visiting the boys' neck of the woods and strolling Paris, so my timings might be a bit off, but I will endeavour to wake up by way of bucket.
> 
> Your comments are like the little shop (ahh, little shop) to my hospital, so please leave one! You can find us on Tumblr at [ComeHitherAshes](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com) and SirLancelotTheBrave. The tags used are ([#2k15 April Writing Challenge](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/2k15-April-Writing-Challenge)) and ([#A Musketeers' Bloom](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/A-Musketeers%27-Bloom)).


	24. The Queue Is A Cue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 24 - _Met standing in the reallllllly long queue for the dressing rooms._
> 
> It would seem I drifted again, today, but the effort is there!
> 
>  **TAGS:** Fleanon, again, huzzah, also mentions of OT3, and even a history fact that ties in very nicely with this fandom/where I visited today!

Flea rolled her eyes when some guy too attractive for his own good cut in the queue, and would have said something had someone else not beaten her to it.

"Back of the line,  _paon._ "

The guy turned to scowl at the golden goddess that Flea had been sneakily eyeing. "Stop calling me that, it makes it weird."

"Good, learn some manners,  _mon cher._ "

"Ninon!"

Before he could stomp his foot and cause a scene, the queue moved and Ninon pushed him towards a changing room, murmuring under her breath, "Flashy prick."

Flea snorted at the unexpected remark said in a posh voice, earning her a glimmering smile over one slender shoulder.

"That's cute," Ninon commented, looking at the shirt in Flea's hands.

"Thanks," Flea replied in some surprise, and when Ninon didn't turn back around, added, "I have this stupid talk thing to go to an' my mate says I have to dress up."

Ninon nodded as if this was a familiar grievance, but she had come out shopping in high-heeled boots and a nice shirt, so Flea wasn't sure why.

"What sort of an event is it?"

"I help run a charity, s'normally just us, but my mate's shacked up with some posh git who's got more money than sense, so he's throwin' a party – though 'e called it a  _fundraiser_."

Ninon's eyes narrowed. "This fundraiser wouldn't be this Friday, would it?"

"Er, yeah, how'd you know that?"

"And did this posh git have a look that could suck your soul out through your eyes?"

Flea acknowledged the sinking feeling in her gut turning into a chasm, "Yeah."

"That would be Athos," Ninon said simply. "It seems you and I share a mutual friend."

"Oh, shit, sorry?"

"Don't be, you were spot on, but it wasn't Athos' idea," Ninon broke off at an indignant squawk from the changing rooms, "that was Aramis."

Flea snapped her fingers in realisation. "Shit, that's the other one's name, I always get them confused."

"No, that noise like a strangled peacock, that was Aramis."

Flea was horrified. " _That's_ who's got Porthos an' Athos makin' heart eyes?"

"I know, hilarious, isn't it? It's like one of those stories where two lions adopt a fawn." At another squawk, Ninon mused, "or a griffin."

Flea laughed and shook her head, vowing to take the right royal piss out of Porthos the next time she saw him. Which was probably this Friday, and with that looming sense of doom, admitted, "I don't really know what to wear."

"Jeans?"

"Will they let me?"

Ninon shrugged, a delicate lift of her shoulders just visible through the lace detailing on her shirt. "Pair it with the right jewellery and the right attitude and you can wear what you want."

"My attitude is I hate standin' up in front of idiots who think I shouldn't wear jeans."

"Great, now all you need is the earrings," Ninon smiled.

Flea grinned, surprised to find an ally in this impeccably dressed goddess. Still, on the pretence of dubiousness – and  _not_ checking her out – Flea eyed skin-tight denim and a curve of creamy hipbone. "I don't have any jeans like that, though."

Ninon paused, her sharp blue eyes roving over Flea's legs until she felt the urge to raise an eyebrow, but then Ninon rifled through her own clothes and held out a pair of black jeans. "Here, try these, but you might need a smaller size."

By the time she had got the damned things on, Flea was struggling with the tiny, flimsy button, muttering about fashion, and swearing death to the idiot who invented skinny jeans.

There was a musical laugh outside and then Ninon swept aside the curtain to fill the gap. Flea hadn't been embarrassed in her life, but in front of Ninon she gave a scandalised cry of protest.

"Louis XIII made tight trousers popular, and he's dead, so I'm afraid you'll have to take your ire out on me." Ninon didn't seem at all bothered by the flustered hand Flea pushed through her hair, and simply let her gaze drift down Flea's tightly packaged body. "Okay, here's the issue."

"What?" Flea asked nervously, eyeing the stranger in the mirror. She wasn't going to lie, they didn't look awful, but they looked far better on Ninon – and probably off of her, too.

Probably a bit early to be thinking about that, though.

Unfortunately.

"Well," Ninon took a moment to meet her eye again, and when she did, it was with a very serious, "you look amazing, but you hate them, don't you?"

There was a heat in Flea's cheeks that she refused to call a blush. "Is it obvious?"

A smile appeared on Ninon's impossibly full lips. "Yes."

Flea gave a resigned laugh, "It's useless."

"Don't be silly," Ninon chided, and Flea immediately wanted to, just to see what it would get her. "Try these, instead."

Feeling a bit like a mannequin but not really minding when Ninon clapped happily upon seeing Flea in trousers and waistcoat, she grudgingly admitted that actually she did look pretty damn amazing.

"Can I wear a tie?"

"I'll steal you one of Athos' pocket squares, too, if you want," Ninon whispered conspiratorially, and smiled when Flea grinned happily.

It felt as if she had known Ninon for years, and it was only when Flea was caught up in a compliment about her eyes being more violet than blue, did she realise that Ninon was paying.

"Wait, no—"

"Consider it shameless bribery to be my date for the party."

Flea let out another resigned laugh, but this one coupled with a wry bite of her lip. "There are like five things I have to deal with in that sentence."

"Please? We can sit at the back and make comments about all the posh gits."

"That sounds so weird in your voice."

"Maybe," Ninon teased, "but you like it."

Flea inclined her head, her grin all teeth and her thoughts all wrong. "Yeah, I do."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> London makes me want to write fanfic, Paris makes me want to write poems, these prompts are getting difficult.
> 
> Your comments are like the pretty cobbles to my streets, so please leave one! You can find us on Tumblr at [ComeHitherAshes](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com) and SirLancelotTheBrave. The tags used are ([#2k15 April Writing Challenge](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/2k15-April-Writing-Challenge)) and ([#A Musketeers' Bloom](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/A-Musketeers%27-Bloom)).


	25. On Your Own Head Be It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 25 - _I decided to flip a coin about every decision in my life for a week and that’s how we ended up on a date._
> 
> I'm writing this whilst listening to the bells of Notre Dame and so my prompt got a little extra cute.
> 
>  **TAGS:** Portamis, inferred OT3, two film references (because I had to stop myself from crying, "the bells, the bells!"), got a little carried away, the wine is so good here, and I'm so tired from walking, I hope it still makes sense, _bon weekend, mes chers!_

"Remind me again, Aramis, as to why we're eating outside, today?"

"The coin."

"Ah, yes," Athos nodded as if this was perfectly acceptable. "The coin, this far-fetched scheme of yours to inject – what you mistakenly term –  _fun_ into your life by leaving every one of your decisions up to the coin."

Aramis offered him his best disappointed look, tutting briefly before throwing his arms wide. "Not just my life,  _mon cher_ , yours, too!"

"I'm positively thrilled by the prospect," Athos drawled, glaring at the sun when it deigned to cast its glow upon him.

Porthos threw himself down next to them, rolling onto his back to lay in the grass. "Figured you'd be here."

"The coin," Athos said dramatically, glaring at nothing in particular – but apparently at everything.

"Right," Porthos chuckled, casting a knowing look Aramis' way, "the  _coin_ is why you're outside."

Aramis made some frantic  _shut up_ gestures, and when Athos looked at him suspiciously, simply smiled and fell into the grass alongside Porthos.

"What did he mean by that?"

"Nothin', s'nice weather for it, mind," Porthos replied, grinning when Aramis hooked their legs together in gratitude. "You owe me."

Aramis closed his eyes and smiled into the sunshine, content at just being near them both, to hear Athos mutter grumpily and to feel Porthos' laugh rumble against his side.

"I think s'quite fun, livin' life by the coin," Porthos said after a few lazy moments of basking, Aramis making a non-committal but happy noise as he let their presence wash over him.

They didn't get enough moments like this, and Aramis hoarded every second with them

"You only think that because you haven't been involved with any of the less favourable ones yet," Athos sniped, throwing what felt like a ball of grass at them.

Without opening his eyes, Aramis declared, "We  _are_ going to that spinning class on Monday, Athos."

More grass found its way into his hair. "You will have to drag my cold, dead body there."

Porthos whisked the coin from Aramis' fingers, flicking it up into the air in one practiced move before smacking it down on the back of his palm. "Yep, it's true."

"It can't tell the future," Athos growled, and when Aramis sat up to find a veritable garden on his head, lifted one hand to gently pull out a few bits of grass that were in danger of falling into his eyes.

Secretly pleased at the little gesture of affection, Aramis blew him a kiss, snickering when Athos had to make the world balanced again by snatching the coin from Porthos.

Porthos leaned up on one arm with a snarl, "You chose to go along with 'em."

Athos' eyes narrowed over a particularly sly smile. "You're implying that you would decline?"

Aramis glanced suspiciously between them, sensing the same strange tension he always did, lately. It upped significantly when Porthos bared his teeth in a grin. "I never back down from a challenge."

"Prove it," Athos said succinctly, and offered the coin between thumb and forefinger. "Flip your fate."

Aramis has half-tempted to snatch it back, but the other half of him was fascinated with Athos' sneaky smirk, the same one that Porthos seemed fixated on.

Porthos' thumb nestled under the coin's edge, and the moment it left his finger, Athos announced, "A date with Aramis."

Aramis stifled a squeak of surprise.

How could Athos do this? Aramis had told him that in  _confidence_ – the haughty fool not realising that Aramis was talking about both of them.

Still, the die had been cast, the coin tossed, and Aramis' life hung in the balance.

If Porthos seemed happy, Aramis would know that Porthos wanted this, too, wanted to go on a date with him. Aramis loved Athos!

Oh, but if Porthos seemed sad, Aramis would know that Porthos didn't want this, didn't want to go on a date with him. Aramis hated Athos!

It seemed to flip forever, a continually spinning orb that defied all laws of gravity.

When Porthos caught it, he waited before smacking it onto his hand, casting a surprisingly hesitant look Aramis' way.

Oh dear.

Porthos must not want this, he must be unhappy.

Aramis' contentment threatened to tremble.

But then Porthos glanced at Athos before meeting Aramis' eye with a small smile. "I'm game if you are, sweet."

Aramis looked at Athos, too, and encouraged by his smirk, nodded, perhaps a little bashfully.

Porthos' grin rivalled the sun. "Great, I'll see you in an hour."

With that, Porthos disappeared, and Aramis was left scrambling. "Wait, an hour? That's not enough time!"

Athos got to his feet in one graceful movement, pulling Aramis up with him – once again not noticing the way Aramis now automatically overbalanced into him.

Athos held him steady, one hand drifting along Aramis' shoulder to his chin. "You won't listen, but you could go as you are."

"Athos, I don't even have any aftershave on, and  _thank you_  for grassing on me!" Aramis said the last with a pout, which made Athos' mouth curve.

"It was what you wanted, and you smell like summer, so I wouldn't worry."

Once again, Aramis was left staring as Athos sought out the safety of the shade, completely unaware that Aramis was in danger of swooning.

For now though, he locked the pretty compliment away, and then he ran, just barely managing to choose a shirt  _and_ get his hair perfect before the door went.

If he was flustered, Porthos didn't pay it any notice, too busy with looking him up and down and saying wonderingly, "Seriously, how do you manage to look so gorgeous every time I see you?"

Aramis was frozen in the doorway, slowly coming to the realisation that  _this was actually a date._

With Porthos.

Which, naturally, meant that he blinked a few times in absolute shock, and only remembered to move when Porthos held a hand out and said, "C'mon, I made a reservation."

"In an hour?" Aramis managed, stumbling outside but caught at the last moment by Porthos' arm, one which slid around his shoulders as they walked.

"I'm a magician," Porthos teased, but then he stopped suddenly, tugging Aramis around to face him. "Although, you gotta do your coin."

Aramis shook head, not wanting to miss out on a moment of this. "No, it's fine."

"Nuh-uh, y'know Athos will find out an' then he'll be all high an' mighty – even if that's a good look on 'im."

Aramis peeked up at that thoughtful tone, smiling when Porthos flushed under his regard. "It is, a very good look, but you're right."

Porthos pushed a curl behind Aramis' ear and gave him that same considering look as when he was thinking about Athos. "We waited way too long to do this."

Aramis ducked his head, smiling as he nodded, but his face fell when the coin landed on tails. "What does this mean? I don't want to stop."

Porthos tilted his head for a moment and then took him by the hand, tugging him down a different street. "Okay, so that's a no to the restaurant, we'll do somethin' else, instead."

"What?"

Porthos came to a stop at the sun-drenched park they had left only an hour ago. "Picnic?"

Aramis' beam was enough of an answer, because a few minutes later they were laden down with shopping bags – and what was probably an obscene amount of alcohol for a public place. Aramis picked the spot, and when they reached it, Porthos spread his jacket on the floor and gave a little bow.

"After you."

" _Merci, monsieur_ ," Aramis simpered, but laughed delightedly, wanting to pull Porthos down with him so that Aramis could sit in the circle of his arms and feed him cheese and crackers.

So he did.

Porthos wasted no time in settling Aramis on his lap, pretending to give Aramis something to nibble only to get it on his face.

After the fifth time, Aramis twisted in his arms. "Take it off."

Porthos' lips tugged upwards at the edges, and then they eased over Aramis' own, his tongue licking at the cheese before sweeping over Aramis' mouth.

It was bliss, and Aramis told him so, before adding with quiet hope, "Shame Athos isn't here."

Porthos played the coin over his knuckles, a thoughtful look about his pirate's grin. "What say we give Athos a taste of his own medicine?"

Aramis bit his lip excitedly. "What if it ends up tails?"

Porthos fished in his pocket for a moment. "Hate to tell you, sweet, but I switched the coins."

Aramis reached for it instinctively as it spun towards him, the dying sun catching it in a glint, and it was only when he opened his palm and twisted it over did he realise.

There was a head on both sides.

Aramis smiled delightedly, and Porthos' responding grin only made it wider. "You can't leave fate up to chance, Aramis."

Aramis settled against Porthos' chest with a happy sigh. "Wise words,  _monsieur._ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can I write anything without it being OT3, lately? Answer, non! I found the cutest little boulangere that I'm totally putting the boys at next canon fic.
> 
> Your comments are like the bells to my church, so please leave one! You can find us on Tumblr at [ComeHitherAshes](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com) and SirLancelotTheBrave. The tags used are ([#2k15 April Writing Challenge](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/2k15-April-Writing-Challenge)) and ([#A Musketeers' Bloom](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/A-Musketeers%27-Bloom)).


	26. Books Can Have New Covers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 26 - _younger siblings are best friends_
> 
> Hi, hello, good afternoon, sorry I've been absent! Picked up the flu en France and it's rather ruined me, my head's been mush for three days and I'm just barely coming around - hence what might be an overly formal few prompts, apparently illness brings out the linguist in me.
> 
>  **TAGS:** After being rewritten half a dozen times, Porthathos, Athamis, the reintroduction of two of my favourite OCs, especially as I watched The Dark Knight Rises last night, AU where there's a hefty age difference between Athos and Thomas.

Athos was flicking through a book in the library when he heard voices through the window, brought in on a soft breeze and sunshine, and he pushed the ladder along the rail.

Nudging aside the heavy curtain's tie-back, Athos spied two people walking up his driveway. One, he recognised, the little red pigtails were a familiar sight in the hallways, lately, but the other...

Athos ducked when the other looked up, and from his perch on the bookshelf, he could just about see dark eyes roaming the house, and a wealth of muscle that seemed to dwarf the little girl at his side.

That was a thought, why  _was_ this window open?

Athos growled an expletive to an absent Sauveterre, the man who made it his life's work to keep Chateau de la Fère a respectable establishment.

If Athos had his way it would be shuttered and dust-clothed half the year and the cellars constantly stocked with wine.

Well, at least they agreed on the latter.

Athos hopped deftly off the ladder, striding along the landing until he reached the staircase ut pausing in the shadows.

The doorbell went and, far quicker than he would if Athos needed something, Sauveterre appeared, insistent upon maintaining his waistcoat and tails despite the warm weather.

With one door opened wide, Athos saw a bright little grin aimed at his dour butler. "Hi Sauvey!"

"Good morning, Miss Eliza," Sauveterre replied sombrely, unaware that Athos had choked on his own tongue at that nickname. "Monsieur Thomas is in the blue room."

"Thanks!"

Eliza ran off, leaving her guardian staring open-mouthed at anything he could see. Sauveterre, with that unending air of tolerance that butlers have, spoke as if nothing was amiss, "Will Monsieur de Treville be returning?"

Those dark eyes blinked in surprise. "Huh? Oh, nah, he's away for a few days."

"I see." There were a few beats of silence where Athos was tempted to put them both out of their misery. "Will that be all?"

"Yeah— actually, can I, uh, speak to someone?"

Sauveterre's lips pursed. "Monsieur de la Fère is busy at present."

"Actually, Sauveterre, I'm not," Athos announced idly as he walked down the stairs, feeling the moment those dark eyes locked onto him as if the earth had begun to shake beneath his feet.

Sauveterre glared at him, and Athos remembered why they were having their latest spat – something about letting Thomas fly a drone on the grounds. Athos was for it only because Sauveterre was against it.

Athos approached with a bland smile. " _Ça sera tout, merci_."

Sauveterre inclined his head and disappeared, probably to switch the wine around so the next vintage Athos picked out was actually something recent.

Which left Athos in the doorway with someone who was, presumably, Eliza's brother. A brother who looked him up and down and started to smile in confusion. "Athos?"

Athos almost took a step back, intrigued to hear his name said in those gruff tones. "Yes?"

The smile turned into a grin, a very interested one. "Thought so, 'Liza's spoken 'bout you."

"You have me at a disadvantage," Athos murmured, unsure what to do with that interest, nor, indeed, his own as he peered into the sun and noticed a scar snaking through one eye.

"Porthos, I work at 'Liza's orphanage."

Athos made an acknowledging noise and then stepped aside. "Please, come in, you said you wanted to talk to someone?"

Porthos inspected him again before walking in, something sheepish in his expression. "Yeah, well, honestly? I just wanted to know who kept givin' the donations, an' I'm startin' to suspect it's you."

Athos frowned slightly. "Is that a problem?"

"No, 'course not!" Porthos replied quickly, one hand going to the back of his neck. "S'just, I thought you'd be, y'know, older."

Athos huffed a soft laugh, raising an eyebrow. "I get that a lot."

"Hey, I'm not complainin'," Porthos said, and this time his grin was something akin to teasing.

Athos smiled just a little, wonderfully unused to this sort of frank flirtation, and beckoned Porthos to follow him into the kitchen, where he mused between a bowl of olives and some salmon before picking a bag of crisps.

Within moments, Thomas and Eliza had whizzed in and stolen half, leaving Porthos to chuckle at the second bag Athos had hidden behind his back.

With one hand in the bowl, Porthos asked, "How come there's such a big age difference 'tween you two?"

Athos hid a smirk at what he would have called an impertinent question, but let it slide. "My parents weren't happy with my choices in life and hoped Thomas would remedy them."

Porthos stared in some dubious concern, obviously thinking that Athos suited this life very much. "What'd you do?"

Athos rather liked this unabashed curiosity. "I fell in love."

Porthos visibly reeled. "Oh, shit, er, why's that such a bad thing?"

This time, Athos' smile was a little bitter. "It wasn't with the right person. They firmly maintained that I would change."

Porthos noted the casual way Athos fetched three glasses from a cabinet filled with crystal. "Did you?"

Athos shrugged, swilling a mouthful of wine around before saying softly, "Perhaps, for the better though, I think."

Porthos frowned. "If they changed you, how's that better? You should be what you wanna be."

Athos tilted his head to the side, enamoured with Porthos' sudden flush at being observed. "I changed because I didn't, because love, ultimately, will out." At that, Athos raised his voice, "wouldn't you agree, Aramis?"

Athos' favourite musical laugh came from the hallway, and then Aramis stepped up against him and brushed a kiss against his jaw. "I'll catch you out one day,  _mon cher_."

"I don't doubt it," Athos murmured, smiling when Porthos started to grin. "You'll stay for lunch?"

Porthos took a breath to decline, but when Thomas and Eliza rushed past, giggling like monkeys, he looked at Aramis' out-stretched hand and Athos' small smile, and nodded. "Sure, why not?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to try put 27 up tonight as well, and then 28 and 29 tomorrow - it's the first day I've not woken up with a splitting headache so bear with me, please!
> 
> Your comments are like the tissues to my sniffles, so please leave one! You can find us on Tumblr at [ComeHitherAshes](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com) and SirLancelotTheBrave. The tags used are ([#2k15 April Writing Challenge](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/2k15-April-Writing-Challenge)) and ([#A Musketeers' Bloom](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/A-Musketeers%27-Bloom)).


	27. Boiler Bunny

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 27 - _You keep using my preferred shower stall in the floor bathrooms when I’m trying to get ready for class._
> 
> Communal what, showers, for class? Ghastly. Okay, I'm going to tap into that magical side of "yes, it's an American prompt, but we're going to dip a toe in my side of the pond for some how's-your-father", is that alright?
> 
>  **TAGS:** I went through all of them before settling, Athamis, OT3, idk, Aramis was meant to be the one with claws, but Athos was feeling pushy, and surprisingly, Aramis doesn't mind.

Aramis pushed open the suite door to find the narrow hallway empty, and he slipped into Porthos' dorm with a kiss to his freshly cut key.

Strictly, they weren't allowed to do this, but Aramis was in the blocks and their showers were a mess, whereas Porthos had garnered a suite with an absent roommate and a shower that had mercifully hot water.

Aramis tip-toed into the bathroom and shut the door with a sigh, smiling at the faint scent of Porthos' deodorant. He must have missed him by minutes.

Shame, showering alone was boring.

Dropping his bag to the floor, he juggled the various bottles that he needed into the shower, and fiddled with the tap.

It was still on Porthos' temperature level of roasting, and Aramis sank happily against the wall with a shameless moan of pleasure.

He stood in the spray, relishing the water that sluiced across his skin, and finally worked up to scrubbing himself down and lathering his hair, taking his sweet time with no one to rush him and all the hot water he could want.

It was bliss in the form of a tiny shower stall.

When he finally stepped out, rosy-cheeked and happy, he saw Porthos' handiwork in a heart in the condensation of the mirror, and cuddled into his towel in dazed delight.

Aramis was in love, it was the only word for it.

Of course, he wasn't going to say that until he had met Porthos' boyfriend, who had been out of town for the two weeks they had known each other, but evidently sweet enough to win Porthos over.

Aramis was sure that he would like him, too.

All thoughts froze when he stepped out of the steamy bathroom and into the chilled hallway, the chilled carpet, and the chilled stare of someone he didn't recognise.

Aramis squeaked, trying to back into the bathroom but slipping on the water, arms free-wheeling as he risked falling onto the tiles.

One hand shot out to grab his arm, cold compared to the heat of his skin, but all Aramis was doing was seeing his life flash before his eyes, old before his time, gone were the days of his youth, so many things he should have done, life was passing—

Oh, he was fine.

Aramis stared into blue eyes for a good few seconds before they lowered down his body, raising with an eyebrow.

Good God, he had dropped his towel.

"Oh, my God, I'm so sorry, I didn't realise anyone was home, I was just—"

"Are you stealing my shower?"

Aramis had scrabbled for his towel, and was fairly certain it wasn't actually covering much of him, but those blue eyes had fixed on him again and didn't seem in danger of straying.

Which was a first, he was normally slapping hands by now.

But not this one, this one was calm, possibly, maybe, hopefully even slightly amused, if that cold stare he had first seen was anything to go by.

"No! I'm not some sort of water thief!"

"A water thief?"

Aramis winced at the dry tone, and brandished the suite key. "Porthos gave me it!"

At that, those blue eyes did roam over Aramis' mostly towelled form, and the hint of a smirk curved stern lips. "Where were you hiding that?"

Aramis snorted at the crude joke, "Now I know you're Porthos' roommate, that's his style."

The smirk turned full-blown and reluctant. "An alarming habit. Athos."

Aramis started to relax, wondering why Porthos had never told him that his absent roommate was actually a friend – one close enough to pick up on his tricks.

One that was actually very cute in a rough, just-woken-out-of-bed-take-me-back-to-it sort of way.

"Aramis."

That amusement disappeared. "I've heard quite enough of that name."

Aramis gave his most charming smile. "Does Porthos talk about me?"

Athos' expression could only be described as dead-eyed. "No, I hear it through the walls."

Aramis flushed to the roots of his hair, but then he noticed the tiniest tug at Athos' lips, and he realised it was a joke with a stamp of one foot. "Why were you sneaking around?"

Athos crossed his arms, clearly entertained and having no intention of letting Aramis pass. "It may have escaped your notice but I actually live here."

Aramis scowled when his smile didn't win him any favours. "Well, yes, but why were you waiting for me?"

"I have a class in," Athos checked his watch, "three minutes, you were in there for thirty."

"I was not!"

"Yes, you were, Porthos leaves at 8am on the dot, you arrived at half past."

Aramis stuck his nose in the air, refusing to notice the way Athos' smile seemed to darken. "I'm not having this conversation with you."

"Why, planning on leaving, in a towel?"

Aramis spluttered, not quite sure how to flounce out of a situation like this, "I'm going to Porthos' room."

Finally, Athos stepped aside, and Aramis did not shiver as he stormed past the stupidly attractive arsehole.

"Be my guest. You have the key, don't you?"

Aramis looked at the key in his hand and then at the different lock on Porthos' door, and let out a little scream. "You're insufferable!"

"Porthos says the same thing, before."

"I'm not surprised— what do you mean, before?" Athos simply smiled wider, showing a glint of teeth. Curiosity sparkled like snow in a burst of sunshine. "What does he say after?"

Athos didn't move, didn't shift his stance, but he seemed to affect an unconcerned air, one that didn't match the huskiness of his tone, "Normally it's  _again_ , mostly it's  _yes_ , and sometimes," Athos shrugged slightly, as if it was nothing, "sometimes it's _please._ "

Athos walked off, leaving Aramis incredibly turned on and not sure how exactly it had happened.

A minute passed before Aramis knocked on Athos' door and asked those wicked blue eyes, "How do you get him to say please?"

Athos extended a hand. "Come in, class is starting."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can class have an age-rating of 18? That one does, and Aramis has filled all, er, well, slots...  
> I hope you're still liking these, I'm a bit fuzzy at the moment! My voice has started going and I've been insisting on talking like Bane and making Bane quotes all day - the postie was not amused. (I am the postman's reckoning!)
> 
> Your comments are like the cough drops to my sore throat, so please leave one! You can find us on Tumblr at [ComeHitherAshes](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com) and SirLancelotTheBrave. The tags used are ([#2k15 April Writing Challenge](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/2k15-April-Writing-Challenge)) and ([#A Musketeers' Bloom](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/A-Musketeers%27-Bloom)).


	28. Plug and Play

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 28 - _I found your USB drive still in the computer._
> 
> I seem to be doing these prompts from the other person's PoV, but without realising. Strange. Anyway, slightly more on form today, I hope, and can I say that your comments make me so happy when I'm coughing my lungs up, thank you.
> 
>  **TAGS:** Porthathos, Porthos surprised me, and then he didn't, I have an unholy love for this type of prompt with this pairing, like number 14 of A Musketeers' Fall (ah, so long ago, now), I wheezed laughing at this title.

Porthos was going spare, he had torn his room apart looking for that faithless little USB, and if he didn't find it soon he was going to have to call in a crack team and a canine unit.

The Met took on cases like that, right? It had been on  _Watchdogs_ , he was sure of it.

In a pique of desperation, he returned to the library for the third time, scanning every single computer in the vain hope that he had somehow lost his sense of direction and the flash drive was simply waiting for him, like a lover on the bedspread or Netflix as dinner was cooking.

It wasn't.

The noise that came from Porthos' mouth was more pathetic mewl than furious roar, but it died when he spun on a heel and came face-to-face with someone clearing their throat.

"I take it that this is yours?"

Cool blue eyes appraised him from under raised eyebrows, and a tailored black shirt and some neat, shiny shoes made Porthos feel somehow inadequate.

 _Athos_ , the name came to him in an instant, the same name he had heard whispered in the hallways, the same name that marked the death sentence of anyone who dared to try that icy façade and thought to come out whole.

At any other time, Porthos might have dared – he had a thing for claws – but right now he was seriously considering throwing himself at Athos' feet and worshipping the brutal bastard.

Although, judging from the look in those steely blue eyes, showing his stomach this early might set a precedent.

Hey, he had claws, too.

"I will give you literally anything you want, you absolute legend."

Ah, damn.

Athos blinked, a surprised smile breaking what had to be a four year long neutrality. "A dangerous offer, but I think you're in shock."

Shock wasn't even the right word, Porthos was  _flabbergasted._ Athos had smiled at him, well, not necessarily at him, but in his direction, because of him.

It was practically the same thing, but better.

Porthos grinned sheepishly. "Yeah, sorry, uh, I'm just— you 'ave no idea how much I needed this."

The smile faded to be replaced with a tilt of one ruffled head, the sort of ruffled that could have been from sleep, or it might have been from sex.

Shit, Porthos' thoughts were derailing rapidly –  _was he loud, did he shiver when he came, how hard did he like it, was he sweet the morning after?_

Porthos' entire body locked up, his heartbeat accelerating wildly as his breathing sharpened, and fuck it all if those clever blue eyes didn't pick up on his flush.

There were seriously not enough hours in the day for this, he was already cruising on 26 with two Redbulls in his system. Clearly Athos was like a jumpstart to the heart – and a sight few other organs, too.

Athos seemed to hesitate and Porthos wondered if this was what it felt like to stick your own foot in your mouth and  _could he actually do that because that would make for some great moves in bed, was Athos flexible, he fenced beautifully, he must bend in all the right ways—_

"Your drawings are very professional."

Every single one of Porthos' heated thoughts froze into horror. "You  _looked_ at my files?!"

Athos shrugged, not looking at all ashamed. "I had to find out whose USB it was."

"That… is actually a good idea, but still," Porthos muttered, trying to remain offended, but completely thrown by Athos' tiny smile. "What?"

That smile twitched wider, seeming slightly predatory in comparison to Porthos' skittering nerves. "I've seen you around, I didn't think you'd be bashful."

Porthos rose to his full height and growled, "I'm not a dwarf."

"No, well, that much is obvious," Athos drawled, still with that smile, and a very insistent part of Porthos' thinking was telling him that it was a come-on.

His brain was telling him to run whilst his balls were still intact.

Athos made the decision for him by inclining his head and turning away, which naturally meant that Porthos had to grasp the nettle – so to speak.

"Still, I guess that would make you Grumpy, eh?"

Porthos held his breath when Athos paused. "A moment ago you were singing my praises."

Porthos gave a lazy shrug, baring his teeth in a cheeky smile, wanting to bare them against Athos' neck. "Reckon I could get you to sing mine."

"You aren't  _that_ professional," Athos murmured, and when Porthos coughed a stunned laugh, blue eyes flicked to the USB still clutched in his palm. "The drawings."

"Right, 'course," Porthos said, his grin rueful, and he could have sworn some very sharp amusement flashed through the iced neutrality.

"Are you quite finished?"

 _Fucking Hell,_ Porthos wanted to feel that silver tongue in his mouth and suck on it until Athos keened. "Nah, figure I should take you out for a drink, right? To say thanks?"

"Will you be paying in cash or going the style of Picasso and drawing on cheques?"

Porthos laughed, his thumb clicking the lid of his flash drive in eager anticipation of Athos' answer. "Y'know there's no proof of that."

Something satisfied entered Athos' smirk. "Cash, then?"

"Yeah, unless you wanna commission me for somethin'?"

It wasn't until he had said it that he realised he didn't only want to fuck Athos silly for the joy of it, but so he could nudge a sated Athos aside and draw the iced fury of him without danger of being maimed.

Much.

"We can discuss it over a drink –  _without_ that," Athos added in a low warning, gesturing to the pad peeking out of Porthos' bag.

"C'mon, let me draw you like one of my French girls," Porthos teased, and realised that his death was going to come ever so fucking sweetly with a little bite of pain.

There were worse ways to go, and besides, it turned out to be his best drawing yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Athos, nettles, stingy and painful, soothed by a big, friendly leaf, sweetened by heat and water. Seemed fitting, no?
> 
> Your comments are like the dock leaves to my nettle stings, so please leave one! You can find us on Tumblr at [ComeHitherAshes](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com) and SirLancelotTheBrave. The tags used are ([#2k15 April Writing Challenge](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/2k15-April-Writing-Challenge)) and ([#A Musketeers' Bloom](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/A-Musketeers%27-Bloom)).


	29. The Offside Rule

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 29 - _Strangers who end up on a kiss-cam at a sporting event._
> 
> Am I just really bad at these? I totally didn't see the word 'strangers'. I accidentally take some serious creative licence with these, but hey, I'm up to date, huzzah!
> 
>  **TAGS:** Athamis, it's probably a good thing I misread it, because there's probably a Brit making some wary eyes at this prompt, rugby, Twickenham stadium, Aramis' romantcism, Athos' stoicism, -isms collide, this title is so apt I might cry.

It was crowded, so Aramis was concerned.

Not for himself but for the crowd if one more person jostled Athos and the kraken was unleashed in a beautiful storm of haughty demeanour and hissed French.

Athos could take down countries, Twickers didn't stand a chance.

"Why am I here, Aramis?"

Aramis nibbled his lip and held up his fingers. "It's their first test match of the Rugby Union, it's Spain versus England, aaand… Porthos is busy."

Athos gave him a wry smile. "That's the real reason."

"No! I thought you were here because you loved me," Aramis teased, and his smile hid the bone-deep want for that exact thing to be true.

But Athos simply glanced at him, even if his arm did go protectively around Aramis' shoulders as they were hustled to their seats. "That's why Porthos comes."

Aramis scoffed, relishing whatever contact he could have. "Porthos will go to any game where England are playing,  _especially_ if it's against one of us."

Athos' brow wrinkled in distaste. "Of course, I've just remembered how avidly he watched the Tour de France last year – d'Artagnan ended up being the most insufferable."

Aramis sighed in agreement, craning his neck to look at the pitch. "They don't even like cycling."

It took a while for Aramis to drag his attention from the plethora of stretching muscles to realise that Athos had raised an eyebrow at him.

"What! I like rugby!"

"You like the scenery," Athos corrected in an amused drawl.

Aramis turned his nose up at him and focused on broad shoulders barrelling past as he murmured, "Don't hate the players, hate the game."

Aramis saw the barely-there smirk that meant he was off the hook, and happily cuddled up against Athos' side, resting his head against his shoulder and smiling widely when Athos turned his head so that his chin sat snugly in Aramis' curls.

Now all he needed was for Athos to admit that he loved him for real, then his life would be perfect.

Peace was shattered when everyone around them started yelling and waving.

"Aramis, why—"

"Oh, my God," Aramis whispered as he looked up at the screen in dawning delight. The camera was focused on him and Athos – he knew it had been a good idea to wear his favourite sunglasses today – and they looked adorable together. "Kiss me."

"What?" Athos reeled back when Aramis' hand fisted in his shirt, something startlingly nervous in his expression. "Aramis, this isn't America."

It was too late, the camera had moved on, people were booing, someone was giving him a pitying expression, Aramis' fingers fell from Athos' collar and he wanted to die.

Not because of what hadn't happened, but because of what had.

Athos had pulled away from him.

Athos didn't feel the same way.

Aramis felt his world splintering, felt the colour leech from the edges, as if life was too much to bear and everything in it was out to get him.

He edged all the way over on his seat, desperate to give Athos as much space as he so obviously wanted, because clearly he didn't want to be anywhere near Aramis ever again.

Maybe he should move away, change jobs, go abroad, sign up for a space station program – were the stars a little  _too_ far away?

Aramis flinched when Athos' fingers brushed his arm hesitantly, and then that painfully familiar voice asked quietly, "Shall we get a drink before half-time?"

Aramis didn't even care that they were missing the game as they edged out of their seats, the weight of many eyes upon them, but nothing else was important.

Athos looked at him sidelong as they walked, a crease to his brow before he finally broke the awkward silence. "Well, that was rather embarrassing."

Aramis just nodded, arms crossed over his chest, shoulders hunched, depression like a black cloud floating above his head.

There was no one in this part of the hallways, and Aramis couldn't take it any longer, feeling as if he might burst from the pressure. "I'm sorry, for the… kiss-cam thing."

To Aramis' surprise, Athos' shoulder brushed against his. "I think I should be the one apologising, I didn't realise it was a, ah,  _kiss-cam._ " Athos said the term as if it was a foreign entity.

"It wasn't, not really, I just thought it would be…" Aramis sighed and ended lamely, "fun."

Athos glanced at him again, that same sneaking glance, as if he was trying to work something out. "Oh."

"I didn't mean to pressure you into something you didn't want to do," Aramis said sadly, knowing he had to take this in his stride if he wasn't going to lose Athos forever.

"It wasn't the kiss."

"I mean," Aramis continued blithely on, caught up in his pity-party, "you should tell me if I take it too far, I don't want to ruin our friendship by— what did you say?"

Aramis stopped dead and stared at Athos' little smile. "I said it wasn't the kiss."

Aramis' mind raced. "You  _do_ want to kiss me?"

Athos blinked at the blunt question and took a steadying breath, his smile turning sheepish. "Yes."

Aramis made an outraged noise of despair. "Then why didn't you?!"

Athos scoffed, his fingers coming up to brush along Aramis' jaw as they had so many times before, but it felt as if it had been an age since Athos had last touched him. "I will gladly share you with Porthos, but not with the world."

Aramis didn't even look around before he pushed Athos into an alcove, encouraged by the gentle grip that slipped to his neck.

Their lips met on Athos' breath of surprise, and then there was a hand on Aramis' hip pulling him closer, a tongue teasing at the seam of his mouth.

Athos tasted like fresh olives and wine, and then he pulled away.

"Of course, if you're worried about ruining our friendship…"

Aramis laughed and bit one smirking lip. "Shut up, Athos."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kaloo, kalay, only one day away! It's sneaked up on me, I'm sad already.
> 
> Your comments are like the novelty hats to my rugger games, so please leave one! You can find us on Tumblr at [ComeHitherAshes](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com) and SirLancelotTheBrave. The tags used are ([#2k15 April Writing Challenge](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/2k15-April-Writing-Challenge)) and ([#A Musketeers' Bloom](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/A-Musketeers%27-Bloom)).


	30. Promises, Promises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 30 - _Who holds… the umbrella when it rains, the popcorn at the cinema, the ice cream cone when they share, the remote when they sit down to watch a movie, the basket when they go shopping, the door on dates, the other’s hand most often, the camera when they take pictures together, their breath upon seeing the other on their wedding day._
> 
> Okay, sorry for the wait, but it had to be perfect, like them. 
> 
> **TAGS:** OT3, sickeningly cute, a gift of cotton candy fluff for you all for following it through this far.

Their living room was dripping in candles, there was wax on the windowsills, wax on plates, wax in glasses, and flames flickering in wine glass bottles on every available surface.

Athos had to admit, Aramis knew how to set a scene.

The sun was setting, casting their living room in a pinkish glow, gleams of red and gold shining in the flickering candlelight, and it had a dream-like quality to it.

Then again, whenever he was with them, it always felt a little too good to be true, as if the colours were too bright and the world too perfect.

Athos' breath caught when Aramis finally appeared in the doorway, dressed in a fitted pinstripe suit, nipped in at his slim waist and accentuating every slender inch of him.

His tie was the same powder-blue as Athos' pocket-square, the same powder-blue as the dickie-bow that peeked out from between Porthos' braces over his white shirt.

In that little splash of colour, they matched, and Athos' perfectly tailored waistcoat suddenly felt too small as his chest tightened with a painful wealth of emotion.

"C'mere, you took long enough," Porthos murmured, but his scold was belied by his grin, one that gleamed in the low light and had Aramis flushing as he joined them in the centre of the living room.

Three again.

Complete.

Aramis brushed a kiss against Porthos' jaw and then slipped between him and Athos, nudging their noses together briefly before whispering happily, "You wore my favourite waistcoat."

Athos pretended not to hear, but Porthos gave a knowing laugh, "Such a sucker, la Fère."

With a determinedly unimpressed look, Athos drawled, "I suppose I'll never be able to stop you from saying that, now, will I?"

"Nope."

"Changing names would play havoc with my fame," Aramis announced in exaggerated airiness to distract Athos from biting at Porthos' neck and demanding he apologise.

Perhaps later.

"We can't 'ave that, I s'pose."

"No, indeed," Athos added dryly, "and I dread to think what my accountant would say if he knew I was thinking of giving Aramis a credit card in my name."

Aramis gasped like a child at Christmas, "Athos, you are?"

Porthos pretended to wince. "Prison ain't gonna suit you when you go bankrupt, sweet."

Aramis swatted him on the arm and Athos laughed quietly, "A good thing that we would go together then, hm?"

Porthos' chuckle softened, "Yeah, together 'til the end, all for one an' all that."

Aramis held both of their hands and sighed happily, "Exactly."

Athos felt his smile form as if it were a ripple in a pond cast by Porthos' grin. His chest still felt tight, but for some reason it felt good.

This was an affirmation of things that were always meant to be, and they didn't need any pieces of paper to tell them what they already knew.

"Right," Porthos cleared his throat with a brief lift of his eyebrows. "I'll start, shall I?"

Athos' heart seemed to flutter oddly, his smile feeling too bright for his face, but it was the same one reflected on theirs, and so it felt right. "I think that would be best."

"Okay." Porthos straightened his shoulders, pulling the dark strips of elastic tight against his shirt for a moment, as if he was preparing to say the most important thing he would ever say. "I promise to always 'old the umbrella so that Athos can hang back an' enjoy the rain, an' Aramis can keep those fuckin' expensive Jimmy Choos dry."

Athos smirked when Aramis scowled. "You can't start with that, and you love those boots on me!"

"Never said I didn't, just sayin' they're fuckin' expensive."

" _You_ didn't buy them," Athos murmured dourly.

"What's yours is mine, now, sweet, remember?" Porthos teased, grinning at Athos' raised eyebrow.

"I'll remember that next time I want one of those little treats you import from Japan."

"You are not touchin' my Pocky, don't even think about it."

Athos sighed disappointedly. "And there I was thinking of taking you around the Norton factory for a look at a new bike…"

Porthos' eyes lit up, his mouth slanting as he tried not to smile. "Well, maybe we could come to some sort of deal."

Athos let his lips curve. "I bet we could."

Aramis tugged on both of their hands, laughing as he scowled. "Hey, no, this is meant to be cute! Athos, your go."

Athos back-benched the promise he felt within his bones, and followed Porthos' lead. "I promise to hold the popcorn, because otherwise you two talk for the entire film."

"We do not!"

Porthos backed up Aramis' squawk with a growled, "How would you know 'bout all those interestin' facts if I didn't tell you when I remembered them?"

Athos scoffed, "I would rather not hear them whispered loudly in my ear as I'm trying to watch."

"You were way impressed with that one about all the shots in  _The Dark Knight Rises_ bein' less than three seconds!"

Athos inclined his head in reluctant amusement. "One, I will give you one."

"I'll give  _you_ one."

Aramis squeezed their fingers chidingly again. " _I_ promise to not be in charge of the ice cream cone."

Athos was distracted enough to share a conspiratorial nod with Porthos. "That's a good one."

"Yeah, there's only so many times we can go back to the truck with half of the cone on Aramis' neck as he pleads us to lick it off."

Athos started to laugh when Aramis stamped his foot, and pulled his hand up to kiss his knuckles. "Just a bit of fun,  _mon coeur._ "

Porthos did the same with Aramis' other hand, holding it close to admit, "Yeah, s'a huge secret but we actually love lickin' things off of you."

Athos inhaled in faux-horror. "Porthos, you alarm me."

Aramis started snickering, and after aiming affectionate warning looks at them both, nudged Porthos to take his turn.

"I promise to always hold the remote when we watch telly, 'cause otherwise you two put some right shit on."

"Porthos!"

"Ow, okay, okay! I promise to 'old the shopping basket, 'cause I like it when you two wander off to get things but then you both come back to me."

An adoring noise was surprised out of Aramis, and even Athos blinked at Porthos' sheepish smile as he said the last.

Aramis gently swung their hands back and forth. "I promise to always hold the camera, because not only do I take the best pictures, but I want to remember every single second of our lives."

Athos' lip tugged upwards at one corner. "That does not mean I'm taking part in any scrap-booking."

Porthos glowered good-naturedly at him. "Good, 'cause I like doin' it, an' you're crap at usin' Pritt stick."

Athos didn't rise to the bait – mostly because Aramis was tickling his palm – and said instead, "I will, however, consent to hanging more pictures around the house."

Aramis yanked Porthos over so that Athos could be rewarded for that self-effacing statement, and Porthos clapped with one hand. "Very gracious of you."

"I didn't just mean camera pictures," Athos added as if it was an afterthought, but very deliberately smirked at Porthos' joy. They already had a handful of Porthos' drawings dotted on the walls, but they needed more.

Their smiles were worth every second of pain those nails were going to bring to his poor walls.

After Aramis had finished bestowing Porthos with the same amount of kisses –  _gotta be fair_  – he asked, "Was that your promise?"

Athos shook his head, enjoying the anticipation, enjoying that blasted wonderful tightness in his chest as he admired them in the dying sun's glow.

"I would promise to hold doors, but we have that covered already. I would promise to hold hands, but," Athos raised his, and with it he reached out to Porthos, too. "I promise that not a day has gone by where my breath hasn't caught when I see one of you, whether it's after a long time apart or because I was working upstairs and came down for dinner."

Athos had looked down after Porthos' fingers had twined with his, but now he looked up, and once again, as it always did, his breathing stuttered at the depth of love that shimmered between the three of them.

"Every time," Porthos murmured against the tips of Athos' fingers, nipping at one with a tiny smile.

"Always," Aramis whispered, and with that he pulled on both hands.

Porthos' arms went about their shoulders, and Aramis' and Athos' curved around their waists, and their promises were soft, soothing things said in the scant space between them. Promises that dropped from smiling lips and 'tween kisses, promises that bound them together, promises of love and life and all the times that came with it.

The good and the bad, the richer – Aramis' wink wasn't appreciated – and the poorer.

For what did they need a scrap of paper for, when they had each other?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading, and a special thank you for you wonderful commenters, I adore you ever so much! I hope you enjoyed this month's set of prompts, and I hope you all have a lovely spring!
> 
> Your comments are like the end notes to my fics, so please leave one! You can find us on Tumblr at [ComeHitherAshes](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com) and SirLancelotTheBrave. The tags used are ([#2k15 April Writing Challenge](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/2k15-April-Writing-Challenge)) and ([#A Musketeers' Bloom](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/A-Musketeers%27-Bloom)).


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